Families
by DeniseSB
Summary: What if Meredith hadn't take Derek back for the third time? Can fellow dirty mistresses become more than friends? Mer/Mark AU from 3.17 through 3.23.
1. Chapter 1

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 1

Mark Sloan had never really liked families--well, the idea of family--and he had pretty good reasons for how he felt. He'd spent most of his adult life believing that if it hadn't been for their money, he'd have been better off growing up as an orphan than as the only child of Tom and Elaine Sloan. In the short amount of time he'd been in therapy, he'd come to understand that his parents' relationship with him had been all about them unloading their unhappiness with themselves onto him--in short, an abusively ugly relationship that revolved around their needs instead of his. Realizing this hadn't exactly brought him any closer to either peace or forgiveness, but it had been a relief to tell someone the truth about what life with his parents had been like and to have that someone confirm that his resentments weren't unreasonable.

The closest he'd ever gotten to having a real family was Derek Shepherd. For a while, he'd deluded himself into thinking that he was a part of Derek's family--he'd even called Mrs. Shepherd "Mom,"--but once they discovered he'd been the reason Derek's marriage had ended, his family membership had ended, too. Oh, Nancy was nice enough to him when she came out to Seattle--but the phone calls to see how he was doing, the invitations to dinner, and the large family get-togethers had ended. Even his birthday passed without any contact from the Shepherds. He'd earned it, he guessed, by screwing the wife of their _real_ son and brother and breaking up his marriage. But that didn't mean that the desertion didn't hurt.

The latest, and possibly the cruelest, disappointment of all, had been delivered by Addison Forbes Montgomery Shepherd--Derek's wife. His affair with her had been the only time he'd ever tried to create a family of his own, the only time he had dared to dream that he could be loved in a forever kind of way--and yet, she aborted their child _simply because it was his_, and then used a husband who clearly no longer wanted her as an excuse to leave him. Even after Addison left and he pursued her cross-country, hoping that he could capture her on the rebound once she accepted that her marriage was no longer a viable option--he was still left alone.

So--all those fairytale definitions of family as loving and forever?--he knew they didn't belong anywhere outside of a Hallmark commercial.

Once burned, twice shy. Thrice burned--don't even try. He wasn't holding on to any more hopes about loving or forever anymore. Still, the two months of illusory happiness he'd spent with Addison made the compulsive chase after the next cunt less attractive than it had been (not that he was about to give it up any time soon). While he still craved contact with other women, the one-night stands became less frequent. Then, in one of those twists of fate that prove the universe has a sense of humor, Mark and his fellow "dirty mistress," Meredith Grey, became fuck buddies.

It wasn't something either of them had planned on. But they did have a lot in common--their painful childhoods with the resulting. . . . What was it his shrink had called it? Oh, yeah--_issues_. Then there was their fondness for liquor and impersonal sex, and--probably their closest bond--the unique experience of having been used by Shepherds on the rebound during the break-up of their marriage. Plus, they were both doctors, even if she was an intern and he was an attending.

The friendship suited their needs, giving them companionship when they wanted it but allowing them freedom to pursue their traditional remedies--booze and anonymous sex--on those nights when conversation and/or a friendly lay weren't enough to chase the demons away. Over time, their desire for other partners lessened, but neither was in a hurry to change the label on their relationship. If anyone had questioned them about their changing relationship, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," would have been their response.

The death of Meredith's mother and Meredith's own simultaneous near-death experience had provided a brief interruption in her relationship with Mark. She claimed she needed some space as she tried to assimilate everything that had happened, including an extraordinarily painful set of confrontations with her mother on her mother's last lucid day. Mark was concerned about her and missed her, but other than issuing periodic lunch or dinner invitations, kept his distance, telling her to let him know when she wanted to resume their normal routine.

Mark's concern developed into outright worry after a conversation with Derek. It started with a page.

Mark looked down at his pager and was startled to see Derek's name staring back at him. Derek hadn't voluntarily talked to either him or Meredith ever since he had dumped Meredith by telling her she should go out with Finn. In Derek's mind, apparently, mentioning someone else's name while he was in the middle of breaking up with her gave him the right to veto all of her future relationships with other men. Watching the resulting confrontation at Joe's had been extraordinarily painful, but it had been worth it just to see how Meredith grew a pair when she faced Derek.


	2. Chapter 2

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 2

_Mark had spent the day with Meredith on his service, and she had impressed him, both as a doctor and as a person. Quite frankly, before that day, he hadn't been interested in her beyond the routine flirting he did with every even remotely attractive woman--but her "rules" intrigued him; she sounded like she'd be fun to get to know. And if the complaints he'd overheard from her roommates about all the noisy sex were even half-true, she should be really fun to get to know. He hadn't known Derek had it in him to be that uninhibited. When he ran into her at Joe's after work, he tried to convince her to go out with him, but his arguments weren't getting him anywhere._

_Upon seeing Meredith and Mark sitting alone together, Derek almost dragged Meredith to the back of the bar. Mark stayed sitting at their table, staring into his drink and anticipating that Meredith was going to reconcile again with her "McDreamy." Seriously! What kind of hold did Derek have over women, that they stayed in love with him even after he dumped their sorry asses? And what was wrong with him, that he kept chasing Derek's discards? Maybe he should just go back to New York and forget this part of his life ever happened._

_His reverie was broken by the sound of Meredith's voice from the back. "How dare you? How _dare _you?!" That did not sound like a reconciliation. _

_"Meredith--"_

_The sound of a slap rang out and the area surrounding the battling duo got suddenly quiet. Mark decided he'd better join them, although he hadn't a clue as to what he would do when he got there._

_He found Joe pinning Meredith's arms to her sides and advising Derek to leave. Derek actually started to leave, but stiffened when he saw Mark standing there._

_"Just once, can't you have the decency to leave the woman I love alone?"_

_Meredith tried to lunge forward, but was stopped by Joe's arms. There was murder in her eyes. "The woman you love? The woman you love?" Meredith seethed. "Joe, shall I tell you how he treats the woman he 'loves'?" Meredith's voice had gotten loud enough to carry over all other noise in the bar. Soon, every eye was trained on the unfolding drama._

_"Doc, please," pleaded Joe. "I gotta get back behind the bar."_

_Despite the inherent entertainment value in watching Derek get beaten up, Mark couldn't believe either Derek or Meredith would be happy that a good percentage of the hospital staff was listening in on what should have been a private conversation. "I'll take over, Joe," he said as he pulled Meredith to one side and started whispering in her ear. _

_At first, Meredith just shook her head violently from side to side, but after a couple of minutes or so, she spat out, "Fine!" and charged toward the front door._

_Mark looked at Derek, who seemed to be in a mild state of shock. "You wanna talk to her?" he growled. "She's waiting for you outside."_

_Derek started moving toward the door again, only to stop again as he saw Mark moving in the same direction. "I'm part of the deal, Derek," he said firmly. "No me, no Meredith."_

_"We'll see about that," retorted Derek, moving as quickly as he could through the crowd between him and the door. Mark followed closely behind, slowing down only long enough to give Joe a nod to say that he'd take care of things outside._

_Joe nodded back unhappily. Given what he knew of their history, he couldn't help thinking that sending Mark Sloan to referee a fight with Derek Shepherd was like trying to put out a campfire with kerosene. "I have 911 on speed dial," he called out after their departing backs, hoping like hell they heard him and wouldn't force him to make the call._

_By the time Derek and Mark made it to the sidewalk, Meredith had composed herself into a look that she hoped approximated icy detachment. Her arms were folded and her posture was ramrod straight. "Well?" she asked while they were still a good six to seven feet away._

_Derek stopped where he was standing and cast another resentful glare Mark's way when he quietly positioned himself against the wall halfway between the angry ex-lovers. "Meredith, we need to talk alone." Derek made a visible effort to calm himself. "This is ridiculous. Mark is the last person who should be here. We don't need him to talk to each other . . . do we?" Although Derek had begun by speaking in an angrily impatient tone, by the end of his speech, his voice had gentled, and his eyes. . . . His eyes were all soft and shiny and filled with such amazing love--they reminded her of the earliest days of their relationship, when she'd actually begun to believe in the possibility of happily ever after. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to remind herself that throwing herself into his arms would be a very _bad _idea. _

_"No," she relied firmly. "I want to have a witness to whatever you have to say, Derek, because I'm tired of you making me feel like I'm crazy for not believing today's story when it's always being contradicted by yesterday's story. You just told me you loved me. Again. Right after you walked away. Again." She shook her head. "There's too much water under the thing, or whatever. I can't do this any more." _

_Derek's face crumpled as he began to realize that Meredith was serious about rejecting him. "But--that's not possible," he protested shakily. "I walked away because I thought Finn would be better for you. I walked away because I love you enough to want you to have the guy who could be better for you than I am--not so that you could spend your time with a backstabbing manwhore like Mark. If you don't want me, then why aren't you with Finn?"_

_Meredith couldn't believe Derek was forcing her to rehash the events of the past few weeks. "Hadn't living through it once been enough?" she thought unhappily. _

_"Finn is no longer an option because I sent him away. I told him that I chose you. You. You with the secret, cheating wife. You who called me a whore when I tried to move on after you dumped me for your secret, cheating wife. And then, when you finally decided you didn't want to be with your secret, cheating wife any more, you told me you were in love with me--that you'd been in love with me _forever_. Do you remember what happened then, Derek? Do you?" Meredith realized that she was shouting at this point, so she turned her head to stare at the Emerald City Bar sign while she worked at regaining her composure. Derek opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when she held up her hand in warning._

_By the time she began speaking again, she'd lost her ability to keep some of the pain from bleeding through her tone. "I told Finn that he was a great guy. I told him that he was possibly the better guy--but he wasn't the 'one.'" Meredith took a deep breath and hardened her voice. "I chose you. But you didn't choose me. Again." _

_Mark stayed quiet. He'd heard some of this story already from Addison's point of view and watched some of it unfold for himself, but this was the first time he'd understood what their insane triangle had done to the woman he'd been thinking of as "the slutty intern."_

_Derek couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd spent his whole weekend-- anyway, the parts when he wasn't complaining about all the unexpected company on the aborted camping trip--realizing he'd made the biggest mistake of his life walking away from Meredith. He was convinced he could make her see that, especially since Finn was no longer in the picture. _

_"Meredith, please--" Derek tried to move closer, but stopped when he saw her step backward and Mark take his place next to her. "Get the hell away from her, Mark! She doesn't need any help from you!"_

_Although Mark hated to insert himself any further into the discussion, he felt bound by his offer to stay during the argument to protect Meredith once Derek tried to breach her boundaries. He crossed his arms to mimic her stance. "I suggest you stay as far back as Meredith wants you to, Derek, or so help me, I will kick your ass," he said quietly. "And you know I can."_

_Meredith looked at her ex-boyfriend with glistening eyes. "You don't get to do this to me again. Good-bye, Derek," she said sadly, and then turned around to walk down the block. Mark followed her even though she hadn't asked him to, since he had no way of knowing how long it might take for Derek to give up the chase, but he needn't have worried. Derek was so stunned at being rejected by the two people he had least expected to reject him that he was in no condition to carry the fight any further. _

_Meredith held her head high and her pace steady. However, once they had turned a corner and were safely out of sight, she leaned against the nearest building and dissolved into a pool of tears. Somewhat awkwardly, Mark gathered her into his arms and let her cry, marveling at the strength she'd shown. It had been obvious to him from the way she was resisting his advances that she still had feelings for Derek, and the hysterical tears she was shedding now were incontrovertible proof that she was still in love with the guy--but she still didn't let her ex treat her like she was some kid's toy to be picked up and discarded at will. He took a moment to wish that Addison had had that kind of strength; maybe they'd still be together, and Meredith could have had her happy ending with Derek, too. Mark started rubbing Meredith's back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture and sighed. He knew there was no arguing with the truth that life always sucks when you're the dirty mistress._

_Eventually, Meredith stopped crying and apologized for getting his shirt all wet, but Mark waved away her apologies and insisted on driving her home. She tried to protest on the grounds that she'd had only one beer, but gave in because she truly didn't have any more energy left to protest._

_The ride home was mostly quiet once Meredith gave him directions to her house. The silence was broken only once. Staring out of the side window, Meredith said, "I just couldn't. You know? I just couldn't." Not sure how he should reply, Mark patted the hand she had lying on the seat next to her and concentrated on the road. _

_As they drove up to the house, Mark was disappointed to see that all the windows were dark. He'd been hoping he could leave her with her friends, but that didn't look likely. He supposed they were all on duty--although, given how they were constantly underfoot, it wouldn't surprise him to find out that they lived at the hospital and came home just to change their clothes. _

_Once Meredith had opened the front door, Mark lingered; he wasn't quite sure whether he should leave her alone. He was pretty sure she'd want to be alone--or at least, not want his company--but he wanted to make sure. "Uh, can I get you anything?" he asked uncomfortably._

_"Yes," said Meredith simply. "You. That is, if you're still interested in that fresh start you were offering me earlier." _

_Mark eyed Meredith warily. She couldn't be offering what she sounded like she was offering. She must just want some company. "O.K., I'll stay for a while," he said, moving past her to lay his jacket on the couch. "Got any single malt scotch?"_

_Meredith stood still for moment, and then gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "Sorry. I threw it all out when I came home from the hospital. Want a beer?"_

_"Sure." Mark regretted asking about the scotch; it made sense that she wouldn't have kept any of Derek's booze around._

_Meredith came back from the kitchen with an unopened bottle of Heineken, a bottle opener, a tumbler, and a bottle of tequila. She set them all on the coffee table and sat at one end of couch while Mark settled at the other. _

_The next forty-five minutes or so were quiet. Except for an initial "Cheers" and clinking of beer bottle to glass, there really wasn't much to say. Meredith drank steadily while seeming to look at nothing in particular. Even so, Mark knew she was aware of his presence because when he finished his first beer, Meredith fetched him another._

_By the time he finished his second beer, Mark had decided to leave. Meredith obviously didn't need him for anything, and the continued silence was making it harder and harder for him not to think about the confrontation with Derek. Yet again, he was caught between Derek and his woman, and yet again he was feeling guilty about his ex-best friend. He wished he'd never invited Meredith for a drink. It was too goddamned complicated. _

_Mark spoke up as Meredith reached over for his empty bottle. "Thanks for the hospitality, Meredith, but I think I've reached my limit." Meredith's eyebrows went up at that statement, but she stayed quiet. "I'm going now."_

_Meredith finished the last of the tequila in her tumbler with a couple of large gulps and slammed it down on the coffee table. "You can go," she agreed, her coordination seemingly not at all affected by the many ounces of tequila she'd downed in less than an hour. "Or," she said as she reached over to unbutton his top shirt button, "_we_ can go upstairs and have a good time."_

_Mark felt his groin tighten as he reached up to capture her hands and hold them still. Sure, he'd been arguing for exactly this outcome less than two hours ago, but Meredith probably wasn't in the best place right now to make this decision. A decision she would probably regret. A decision she would probably blame him for. This was a bad choice. "Grey, we shouldn't do this tonight."_

_Meredith frowned; she felt he'd lied to her at the bar. "What happened to that fresh start?"_

_Mark grimaced to cover his reflexive smirk; it was nice to know he hadn't lost his touch. Even so, the idea of sleeping with Meredith tonight felt like he'd be taking advantage of her. "Another night, Grey. I promise I'll take you anywhere you want to go." When he saw that his offer had done nothing but change Meredith's frown into a look of deep disappointment, he tried another approach. "Or, we can come back here and have loud and dirty sex that will make your neighbors beg for earplugs. But not tonight. O.K.?" _

_Meredith withdrew her hands into her lap and stared at them. "Please," she asked softly. "Don't make me beg." _

_Mark studied Meredith's face impassively while he fought with himself. Nothing had changed to make having sex with Meredith anything but a bad idea--but he couldn't ignore the look on her face. He recognized that look because he'd seen it in the mirror too many times to count, and he couldn't find it in his heart to turn away. _

_"O.K.," he said, as he moved his hands toward her face to draw her in for a kiss._

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

_The following morning, Mark awoke to the sound of the shower. He frantically started to get dressed, hoping he'd escape before Meredith came back, but no such luck. _

_"Hey," he said, while sticking his hand under the bed. "Have you seen my other shoe?"_

_"Hey," Meredith smiled back shyly, causing Mark to silently sigh with relief that she wasn't angry with him. "Thanks for last night. I really needed to be with someone."_

_Mark grinned. "It was my pleasure. I mean that." O.K., he didn't really mean it. Although her technique was impressive and her flexibility reminded him of a professional ballerina he'd dated back in New York, mercy fucks were not Mark's idea fun. The nightmare he'd had afterwards of Derek finding him in Meredith's bed and firing a gun in his face hadn't exactly added any joy to his evening, either. But her technique _was_ impressive, her flexibility _did _remind him of a ballerina he'd dated back in New York, and the nightmare wasn't any worse than the ones he usually had about Derek. Besides, he'd already decided he liked the ballsy little intern and expected that a similar evening under different circumstances would definitely be worth his while. Anyway, he was willing to put the theory to the test. "Any time you want some company again, feel free to ask."_

_Meredith smiled again, a little less shyly this time. "Thanks, I may do that." _

_Mark turned his attention to putting the rest of his clothes on while Meredith stood there, biting her lip. She normally counted on her one-night stands to be gone before she woke up, or at the very latest, by the time she finished showering, yet here Mark was. And it was obvious he understood the protocol, because he'd been trying to finish dressing before she came out--and yet, she felt she owed him something. "Look, I don't normally offer, but--would you like to shower and stay for some breakfast?"_

_Mark turned his head apprehensively. He hoped that Meredith's offer didn't mean what it sounded like. "No thanks, Grey," he said uncomfortably. "I need to pick up a change of clothes before heading to work." The look of utter relief on Meredith's face reassured Mark that Meredith hadn't misunderstood their night together. They both understood this wasn't a relationship that included a morning after._


	3. Chapter 3

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 3

Mark slowly made his way to Derek's office, wondering all the way whether he was being paged accidentally or on purpose. In the immediate aftermath of the final confrontation between Meredith and Derek, Mark had ordered that all of Derek's Plastics pages be routed directly to him--but Derek got around that by having his residents call in his pages in their names. Mark finally accepted this state of affairs, and told himself to follow Meredith's example when dealing with Derek--using a professional demeanor whenever necessary and minimizing personal interaction whenever possible. Given that Derek usually went out of his way to avoid the both of them, these goals weren't hard to accomplish.

Mark took a deep breath before he knocked.

"Come in."

"To what do I owe the honor of your page, Dr. Shepherd?" asked Mark formally, one hand still resting on the doorknob.

Derek looked up from the paperwork he was pretending to rearrange on his desk. "Mark," he said cordially, ignoring Mark's raised eyebrows at the use of his first name. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Please, have a seat--and close the door behind you."

Mark ignored Derek's instructions. Instead, he folded his arms and pointedly asked, "Who are you, and what have you done with Derek Shepherd?"

Derek flushed. "I deserved that, I suppose. Please, Mark, come in and have a seat. I need to talk to you about Meredith."

Mark's attitude changed from merely guarded to deeply suspicious. "This better be good," he growled, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary before he sat down.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Derek cleared his throat. "I suppose you know that Meredith and I spent some time together during the last few days of her mother's life. I would have assigned the case to Ndiaye, but Richard insisted that I take it myself because I was the doctor who enrolled her in the Alzheimer's study and had been following her case." After a pause, during which Mark continued to stare implacably at Derek, he continued.

"Anyway, Meredith and I talked, and I apologized to her for the inappropriate way I've behaved for the past few months."

Mark snorted in disbelief. "Inappropriate? Derek, you've been a jackass!"

Derek visibly wrestled for a moment with the temptation to retaliate, but then tried a lighter approach. "I'm told the proper term is McAss." Mark grinned as he envisioned Meredith telling Derek exactly what she thought of him these days.

"Hmm." Derek tilted his head and gave Mark a smile they both knew wasn't a smile.

Mark grinned even wider as he enjoyed Derek's discomfiture.

"Anyway," said Derek, wanting to change the topic, "you get that this is me apologizing to you, too. Right?" He looked at Mark intently, waiting for his response.

Mark blinked. Although the decision had hurt like hell at the time, he'd mostly resigned himself to the end of his relationship Derek. Now that it looked as if Derek was offering to resume the relationship, he wasn't quite sure that he wanted it.

"Why now, Derek?" he asked skeptically, leaning back in his chair. "Is this some favor you're doing for Meredith to make up for that fact that her mother died?"

Now it was Derek's turn to blink.

Over the past few months, although the realization had hurt like hell at the time, Derek had reluctantly admitted to himself that Meredith had been justified in her decision to end any possibility of a romantic relationship between them. He'd wound up being grateful that taking care of Ellis had offered him an opportunity to begin repairing the breach between them--and became even more grateful for that opportunity after Meredith's brush with death in Elliot Bay. Nearly losing his chance to ever make things right with her forced him to drop whatever petty resentments had still lingered. He hoped that, in time, they might become friends again.

But Mark? Accepting that Meredith had the right to move on had been hard, but having accepted that, Derek had reluctantly concluded that he also had to accept that Meredith had every right to develop whatever relationship she wanted to with Mark. However, that didn't set aside the betrayal he still felt over Mark's affair with Addison. He thought he was being rather magnanimous with his gesture, and was taken aback that Mark would think to question it in any way.

"No," Derek said shortly, reaching out to straighten an already meticulously aligned pile of papers. "Meredith has the right to see whomever she wants. That includes you. I should have thanked you for protecting her instead of ordering you to go away." He looked at Mark steadily. "But you know I never would have hurt her."

Mark nodded, accepting the statement at face value. Neither he nor Meredith had feared any physical violence from Derek that evening--and yet, a violently angry Meredith had still refused to go outside to talk to Derek until Mark promised to go along. Mark acerbically noted that Derek's record for insensitivity remained unbroken, apology notwithstanding.

Time to move on. "You said you wanted to talk about Meredith. She's fine. Anything else you want to know?" Mark wasn't actually sure of that last statement, but he'd be damned before he gave Derek information about Meredith behind her back. If Derek wanted information about Meredith, he'd have to ask her himself.

Derek studied Mark's face carefully, trying to determine whether Mark was telling him the truth as he knew it or simply stonewalling. As worried as he was about Meredith, he still didn't want to violate her confidence unless he needed to--and the blank poker face Mark was giving him didn't give him enough information to let him keep quiet with a clear conscience. Derek leaned back in his chair. "How much has Meredith told you about her mother?"

Oh, shit! Mark hadn't been expecting that question. And as Ellis Grey's physician, Derek had to know way more than he did, anyway. Mark decided to answer. "Not much. Meredith's dad walked out on them when she was five, so her mom was left alone--never remarried. Since she was also a prominent surgeon, Meredith was mostly raised by a bunch of nannies. They weren't close, but when her mom got sick enough to need being put in a home, Meredith transferred to our surgical program so she could take care of her." He shrugged. There wasn't much more that he could tell, anyway. Meredith rarely talked about her childhood except for the occasional wisecrack about absentee parents and abandonment issues. Mark had always assumed she was talking about her father. And/or Derek. He had been rather happy about that aspect of Meredith's personality, as it relieved him of any pressure to talk about his own family, such as it was.

Derek grimaced. "So, I see Meredith is still being Meredith." He rubbed his chin, still trying to find a way to start telling Mark what he knew about Meredith.

Mark, however, was not in a very patient mood. He leaned forward and put his hands on the chair's arms. "Derek, I have paperwork to catch up on, so either tell me what's on your mind or let me go upstairs."

"No, don't go. Please," Derek begged. "You need to know this. _Someone_ close to Meredith needs to know this stuff, and Yang won't even give me the time of day, let alone enough time for a conversation, unless it was during a surgery. Please. I'm worried about her."

Mark settled back, unnerved by Derek's intensity. "Then start talking."

"First, you have to give me your word you won't talk about this to anyone--not even to Meredith. I don't know how much she knows about her mother, and some of this stuff is . . . upsetting, to say the least."

"Then how do you know about it?" Mark asked, nonplussed.

"I used to visit Ellis at Rose Ridge. Every time I went, she thought I was someone else, and would talk to me about whatever she thought was going on in her life at the moment. I think I know more about her life than anyone else on the planet who wasn't paid to be with her." Convinced Derek had legitimate access to the information he was about to share, Mark nodded at him to continue.

"For starters, Thatcher didn't walk out on Meredith and Ellis. He was deliberately pushed. And when Ellis divorced him, she told him never to contact them. Ever."

Mark turned that thought over in his mind and frowned. "And Meredith doesn't know this?"

"If she does, she didn't find out until recently. She ran into him accidentally when he was here with another daughter for the birth of his first grandchild. She met him and his new family. According to Meredith, they seemed quite nice, but she wasn't interested in getting to know them. They're not family to her. Except for those interns she hangs out with, she thinks of--thought of--her mother as her only family.

"She still hasn't forgiven her father for leaving, and she thinks of the other family as the people who stole him from her. She has fond memories of the few years she did spend with her father, and is convinced her life would have been different if he'd stayed. His second family got the 'bright and shiny' life that was supposed to be hers. This much I know from Meredith herself."

"So, Meredith is angry at her father. I already knew this. Why the drama?" Mark asked irritably. He wasn't irritated with Derek so much as he was irritated with Thatcher, but the other man wasn't around. He must have been some gutless wonder not to have fought for his right to keep in touch with his daughter.

"This next part is the part you shouldn't discuss with Meredith unless she brings it up. I don't know how much her mother told her or how much she may have found out on her own."

Mark nodded once uncomfortably. He really wasn't happy at the idea of keeping something secret from Meredith, but Derek sounded like he was honestly trying to help.

Derek could tell Mark wasn't happy at the need for secrecy, but knew he'd understand it in a moment. "Ellis Grey was an incredible surgeon, but a miserable excuse for a wife and mother. She divorced Thatcher because _she_ was having an affair with a married man and thought that he'd marry her once she got divorced. When that didn't work out, she blamed Meredith because she was sure the guy would have married her if Meredith hadn't been around." Derek knew that this wasn't the reason Richard had walked away from Ellis, but he saw no need to bring the Chief's name into this.

Derek continued, "But here's the worst part. She'd never wanted to have a child and had Meredith only to placate Thatcher. And then, because he tried to fight the divorce, she fought for sole custody to punish him. But after the case was over and this other guy dumped her because she had a child--Ellis would have given Meredith away happily, but she'd already driven Thatcher away. She talked about wanting to hire a detective to find him, but I don't know if that ever went beyond the talking stage. So Meredith was raised by a revolving door of nannies--each one staying just long enough for Meredith to get attached before leaving. My God, you should have heard Ellis go on and on about Meredith's 'whining' every time a nanny left. My guess is that they were driven off by Ellis's temper, but I can't prove it since Ellis's version is the only part of the story I've heard."

Mark tried sorting through all the information he'd just been given, but his anger and disgust made it hard for him to think. "Bitch!" he muttered, unable to form a more coherent thought.

Derek nodded in agreement. "But there's more."

Mark looked up in surprise. "More?"

"You know that Ellis had one lucid day just before she died. Instead of making the most of her time with Meredith, she yelled at her for not being "extraordinary." I heard the nurses talking about Meredith leaving the room in tears, so I went looking for her. I found her in the nursery and brought her in here to get her to talk. It took a while, but once she got started talking she couldn't stop crying. She'd been hoping all this time that someday her mother would get better and . . . like her. Respect her. Maybe even love her. She was very hurt to find out that nothing had changed even though she followed in her mother's footsteps by choosing surgery for a career."

"Meredith's better off without her," Mark declared bluntly. He'd respected Meredith's wishes and stayed away from Ellis because he thought Meredith was trying to make his life easier by letting him avoid Derek. Now, he wished he'd gone with Meredith so he could have forced the bitch to shut the fuck up.

Mark tried again to assimilate the mass of information he'd been given--and figure out why he'd been given it. "Why are you telling me this, Derek? Sure, Meredith's upset--but she'll talk about it when she's ready. What help can I give her?"

"I'm hoping you'll talk Meredith into seeing someone in Psych."

Mark thought about Derek's suggestion. Going to a shrink made sense only if the person wanted to go. If Meredith went just to get him off her back, it would be a waste of time. Mark opened his mouth to point this out, but Derek stopped him.

"I know what you're going to say, but hear me out. There's one more thing I have to tell you, but I couldn't until I told you all the other stuff."

Mark wasn't sure he wanted to hear anything else. Aside from any feelings he had on Meredith's behalf, he'd already heard a fair amount about her life from someone other than her. Given how uncommunicative she was about her past, he was pretty sure she wouldn't be happy to find out he'd been gossiping about her with anyone, including Derek. Maybe especially with Derek. He half rose from his seat again. "Look, Derek, I--."

"I think Meredith tried to kill herself." Derek hadn't meant to blurt this out, but he had to stop Mark from leaving.

Mark thudded back down and tried to wrap his mind around Derek's statement. Suicide? Meredith? It didn't make sense--but if she had tried in the past, maybe Derek was right to be afraid she could get depressed over her mother's death and try again. "How long ago was it?"

"A couple of weeks ago in the harbor," he said reluctantly. Derek still had trouble believing it himself, but couldn't talk himself out of his suspicions.

Mark stared back incredulously. "Are you nuts? Meredith was pushed into the water by a patient! She told us." Mark was both angry at Derek for imagining trouble where it didn't exist and just plain relieved that what he'd said was nonsense.

Derek's expression didn't change. In fact, it reminded Mark of the way Derek looked outside Trauma One after he'd brought Meredith in. They'd both spent the afternoon in that corridor, neither one speaking, but each glad for the unspoken support of the other.

"I know what she said, and I want to believe her. But you weren't there, Mark, and what she said just doesn't fit the facts." Derek held up a finger for each of his points. "One--Meredith is an excellent swimmer. Two--the water wasn't cold enough to have kept her from swimming. Three--I found her only a few yards away from the waterside. She would have been able to rescue herself if that's what she wanted to do." Derek closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself before continuing. "It doesn't make sense."

"You're the one who doesn't make sense, Derek," Mark said scornfully. "They worked on her for _four_ _hours _before they got a pulse. That's how cold she was. Shall I review the effects of hypothermia, _Doctor_ Shepherd?"

Derek just shook his head slowly. "It wasn't that cold. It took me three passes under the water before I could find Meredith--and I stayed underneath as long as I could before my breath gave out each time. I shouldn't have been able to do that if the water was that cold. And Meredith is a much better swimmer than I am."

Mark wondered what Derek was using for brains these days. "She's a woman half your size. Of course, she couldn't stay in the water as long as you could. Use your common sense."

Derek didn't believe that Meredith's size had made that much of a difference, given how long he'd been looking for her, but he couldn't discount the possibility entirely. Still, there was one last factor. "But what about her location? She was so close to the stairs--why didn't she just push a little harder? You have no idea what a good swimmer she was. Is." Derek couldn't let go of his memories of how easily she had outclassed him while swimming in the lake on his property, and had trouble believing he could have been a better swimmer than she out in the harbor.

"Hy-po-ther-mi-a, Derek," Mark enunciated each syllable slowly, as if he were speaking to someone who was developmentally disabled. 'Shall I say it again so you can say it with me?" Mark was the one shaking his head, now. "She was close to the stairs because that's where she was headed when she lost consciousness."

Derek thought about what Mark had said; it sounded pretty reasonable. Maybe he'd let his imagination run away with him. "So, you've been speaking with her? She doesn't seem unusually depressed?" he asked hopefully.

Given that Meredith probably hadn't spoken more than half a dozen sentences at a time to him since the event in question, Mark was in no position to answer knowledgeably, but he wasn't about to admit that. "I won't say she's her normal self," he began cautiously. "She's still recovering from everything that happened. But she hasn't said anything to me about wanting to kill herself." And that was all he intended to say.

"Ah." Derek let out a half laugh and a sigh of relief; then he scrubbed at his face as if he were trying to wake up from a nightmare. Mark watched the tension visibly drain from his body. "You have no idea how good it is to hear that."

In that moment, Mark was finally convinced that Derek had loved Meredith. It left him torn between guilt at being caught in the middle of another breakup between Derek and a woman he'd once loved, and involuntary relief that Derek was finally willing to stop hating him for it. It also--maybe--meant that Derek knew more about Meredith's state of mind than Mark had been willing to give him credit for. Maybe Meredith had been willing to tell her ex-boyfriend things she hadn't been willing to share with her fuck buddy.

It was time to leave. Now. "Derek, I still have that paperwork to catch up on. So, if there's nothing else. . . ?"

Derek nodded. He'd said what he'd had to say; the next move--on all fronts--belonged to Mark. Hoping that the conversation could serve as the fresh start of a relationship between the three of them, Derek tentatively reached across the desk to shake Mark's hand. "Thanks, Mark."

Mark awkwardly accepted the handshake and wondered what he could say. "Yeah. Uh--thanks for caring?"

Derek smiled; Mark wasn't rejecting what he'd heard. "How about you and I meet for drinks at Joe's after work?"

Mark froze. He'd tried to join Derek at Joe's several times, and been shot down each time. Despite his earlier promise to himself never to try that again, the thought of going for a drink with his former best friend was . . . okay. Maybe even good, but--his first priority had to be finding out what Meredith's plans were. "Sorry, not tonight. Rain check?"

"Done."

With another handshake, this one less awkward than the first, Mark was finally free to go. His first instinct was to find Meredith and ask her about Derek's suspicions so that he could put them to rest in his own mind, but he was at a loss as to how to proceed. Derek's theory that Meredith had attempted suicide seemed ridiculous at first hearing, but the fact that the guy was willing to talk to him about Meredith at all meant that he had believed it was possible; anything less, and Derek would have continued to pretend that he simply didn't exist. When you added the facts that Meredith had never told him ANYTHING about her mother and was working so hard at avoiding him that she'd asked Bailey not to assign her to any Plastics cases (he'd asked), it was hard to avoid wondering whether Derek was on to something.


	4. Chapter 4

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 4

Mark was busy figuring out a way to force Meredith into a date with him and Jose Cuervo as a way to start getting at the truth when she came to him in a panic. Her stepmother had coerced her into a dinner date at her father's house and she didn't know how she was going to handle it. His first response was outrage; how dare those people pretend to care about Meredith's welfare after leaving her alone with that bitch for all those years! He opened his mouth to tell Meredith she should tell them what they could do with their invitation, but paused while Meredith continued to babble. Something told him she wouldn't be this nervous about the invitation if some part of her didn't want it to go well. By the time she'd finally run out of enough steam for him to put a word in edgewise, he came up with a plan. This, at least, he could help her handle.

"Don't go to their house. Invite them to your house. It's your territory, and you get to be in control. If something goes wrong, you can ask them to leave."

"I can't do that," Meredith objected automatically. Then she reconsidered. The idea of ordering Thatcher out instead of helplessly watching him walk out of her life had a certain appeal. "Can I?"

"Of course you can!" said Mark encouragingly. "I'll even play bouncer for you. Deal?"

Meredith pondered the idea. She had absolutely no clue whatsoever as to why she'd agreed to Susan's invitation because the last thing in the world she needed was to see how happy her father's life had been once he'd left her behind, but Susan had seemed so kind (and persistent!) that sticking firmly to her refusal had been more than she could manage. Relocating the dinner to her house meant that she didn't have to see theirs with all the family photos and other trappings of happy family life. It made the evening doable--with one small problem.

"Mark, Susan said she was going to make chili. What will we do for dinner? You know I can't cook."

Mark grinned. He always did like women who knew their own limitations. "I'll stop by Park Place Market and pick up some chili. Are we on?"

"Yes," nodded Meredith, only to immediately follow it with "No."

Mark narrowed his eyes impatiently. He was happy to help, but she was making this more complicated than it needed to be.

"Well, I can't have them think I couldn't come up with my own menu, can I?" Meredith demanded, only to be greeted with an eye roll. There were times Mark could almost forget Meredith was a woman. This wasn't one of them.

"Ezell's?"

"Yeah," smiled Meredith. It would be easy to put their stuff on serving dishes and pretend it was a real dinner. "Get roast chicken and rolls. I'll stop for salad and steamed vegetables at the Korean market on the way home." Meredith closed her eyes and let out a big sigh. She could handle this. "Thanks, Mark."

"No problem, Grey." Mark wondered for a moment if he should give her a kiss on the forehead for reassurance. Despite the distinct aura of relief, Meredith was looking tinier than usual. He decided to settle for a shoulder nudge; there was no need to get sentimental about it.

Mark watched Meredith paste her "I'm fine" smile on; it looked a little more crooked than usual. "O.K. Let's get busy so we can get out of here on time. She gave his arm a quick pat. "Thanks."

Should he say something now or wait for her to bring up the rest of dinner? He shrugged. No sense making her come flying after him. "Meredith?" he called after her retreating back. "How are you set for liquor?" He grinned. "Or did you intend to make this a dry evening?"

Oops. "Mark?" She didn't need to ask; the pleading in her eyes was enough.

"Yeah, I'll pick up some wine. And beer. I know you have enough tequila."

She smirked. "You're developing quite a shopping list."

"Any thoughts on dessert?" he asked dryly. "Maybe I should run a tab on you."

"A tab?" she asked mock-indignantly. "This dinner is your idea. Maybe I should make you pay for the salad and vegetables."

"Make 'em green beans and you have a deal, cheapskate," said Mark with a smile. Damn, she could be cute when she was bossy. "Dessert? The usual?"

"Only if it's pie and strawberry ice cream."

"Like I have to ask."

Meredith was looking a little better; paradoxically, focusing on the details of preparation took her mind off the main event. Her improved mood helped to lift Mark's. Derek's worries seemed less likely, at least for now. "It's a good thing for you I'm an attending, Grey, or I'd never be able to get out of here early enough to do all of your domestic chores."

Domestic chores? Uh-oh. "Are you kidding? I have to ask Bailey to let me out early so I can go home and clean."

Much as he would have liked to argue. Mark saw her point--but there were limits to what he was willing to do. "Good luck. I'm off to finish rounds. See you later."

"Bye." Almost before he knew it, Meredith was power walking halfway down the hallway, her ponytail waving briskly in time with her stride.

Mark watched, content he had done all he could for the moment, but his contentment didn't last. He thought the whole idea of this evening as ridiculous at best, with the potential for much worse right around the corner. What the hell did these people want? He hoped Meredith wouldn't be disappointed in the results.

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

Less frantic after her conversation with Mark, Meredith decided to use lunch time to conscript the rest of her "family" for help with handling the evening. George (with Callie, if he brought her) would have been her first recruit, but he had a fight with Izzie and left before she could say anything about the evening. Meredith panicked momentarily, but then decided to be glad that the fight happened at the hospital instead of at her house, and called herself an idiot for forgetting how volatile the atmosphere was between George, Izzie, and Callie.

Fortunately, the others were more than willing to help. Between annoyingly intrusive questions aimed at Cristina about Colin Marlowe, her former professor and old (in both senses of the word) boyfriend, Izzie immediately volunteered to cook her "stupid" dinner, and Cristina said she'd show up with a fake crisis forty-five minutes after dinner started so that Meredith would have the option of aborting the rest of the evening if she wanted to. Alex had plans for the evening, but promised to stop by if he could. Meredith accepted all offers gratefully.

Then, Alex joined Izzie in teasing Cristina about her relationship with Cardio God Colin Marlowe and the benefits of Viagra, but with limited success. To change the subject, Meredith asked Izzie for a shopping list for Mark.

Izzie arched an eyebrow. "For _Mark_?"

Meredith rolled her eyes; the teasing was getting old "For _Sloan_, Izzie, okay? _Sloan_ was going to pick up chicken at Ezell's, but now that you're going to cook, he can pick up groceries instead."

The three other interns exchanged knowing glances. "For Sloan, right," Izzie nodded. "So tell me, Meredith," asked Izzie with an exaggeratedly casual tone, "what's it like to go through life with attendings as your boyfriends?"

"Not just attendings--department heads," added Cristina sardonically, glaring back at the others when they raised their eyebrows at her. Given the morning's revelation that she'd slept with Cardio God in med school and her current engagement to SGH's Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery, she'd uncharacteristically left herself open on that comment. "Shut up," she muttered, opening up a textbook and pretending she couldn't hear the rest of the conversation.

"Yes, be quiet, the both of you. Cristina's business is her own business, and Sloan and I are _friends_," insisted Meredith, trying to draw their attention away from Cristina. She understood Cristina had been defending her in her own way with that comment.

"Friends with benefits," grinned Alex, earning himself a glare from Meredith. "Hey, I'm not criticizing," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "I think it's great that you two have somebody to hook up with without having to bother with all that dating crap." This time the glare came from Izzie.

"What I want to know," continued Alex as he gathered the remnants of his lunch onto his tray before standing up, "is how I can convince some woman to give me the same sweet deal you're giving Sloan."

"Pig!" spat Izzie, throwing a wadded up napkin at him.

Meredith stuck her tongue out at him. "Go away, Alex."

Alex sauntered away with a satisfied smirk on his face. Truthfully, he was jealous of the amount of time Meredith spent with Sloan; he'd kill to spend that kind of time in the OR with him. But since that seemed about as likely as Meredith taking a vow of abstinence that lasted longer than it took to burn a piece of toast, he'd settle for needling her about her "friendly" relationship.

Meredith turned to Izzie, annoyance showing on every feature. "Now, can I have a shopping list, or should I just let _Sloan_ go through with the original plan?"

"All right, Meredith," said Izzie placatingly. "You're not usually this touchy."

Meredith held herself rigid for a moment longer, and then relaxed (ignoring the muttered "wimp" from behind the textbook). "Sorry, Iz. I really do appreciate you doing this. It's just that it's my father, you know? I'm not sure what to expect."

Izzie's brown eyes softened; she'd had her own share of family angst and was sure she knew what Meredith was going through. "Don't worry about it." She pulled over a napkin and took out her pen. "So, what am I making? I don't get off until five, so there's no time for anything fancy," she warned.

Quickly, a shopping list was prepared for the menu Meredith and Mark had settled on earlier, and Meredith was on her way. Mark accepted the list good-naturedly, but warned Meredith that she'd be the one to listen to any of Stevens' complaints if he got the wrong items.

_**GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA**_

Meredith came home to find Mark setting the table. "So, who domesticated you?" she quipped, trying to distract herself from the butterflies driving a tractor-trailer through her insides.

"Your roommate threatened to poison me if I didn't make myself useful," said Mark gruffly, and then he grinned and jerked his head toward the fireplace. "There's my real contribution to getting things ready."

Meredith's eyes widened. The seldom-used fireplace was alight with merrily crackling flames. Neither she nor her mother had used the fireplace much since the set-up and clean up wasn't worth the bother; even so, they had the chimney cleaned regularly as a safety measure against the possibility of a power failure. However, at that moment, the flickering flames struck a perfect grace note, bringing back memories of when Thatcher had regularly built fires for winter evenings when her mother came home early enough for the family to spend time together.

Mark was unnerved by Meredith's silence. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it," he said apologetically. "I can put it out."

"No," protested Meredith, coming out of her reverie. "It's beautiful." She put her hand on his chest. "Thank you."

Mark grinned self-effacingly. "It didn't take much. The firewood you had on the porch was practically dry enough to burst into flames on its own."

"Thank you, anyway, then." Meredith forced herself to turn her gaze away from Mark's eyes and toward the table. "Anything left for me to do?"

"No," said Mark, stepping away to put the last wineglass on the table. "The only responsibility I have left is to keep you out of the kitchen."

Meredith pursed her lips wryly. "I know. But I still have to go in there and offer to help so she can kick me out."

"But she can't kick you out of the kitchen. It's your house," protested Mark.

"How much time have you spent here, Mark?" Meredith asked smilingly. "Who does ninety per cent of the cooking and cleaning?" Meredith shook her head in disbelief that Mark could think there was anything objectionable about the arrangement. "Believe me, if you'd ever had to eat my cooking, you'd be asking me to give Izzie the deed to the kitchen."

Mark nodded without further comment. At first, he'd thought the jokes about Meredith's cooking were just that--jokes. However, in the time he'd known her, he'd never seen her make anything more complicated than a grilled cheese sandwich--and that was with white bread and plastic-wrapped imitation cheese food. Maybe the jokes weren't jokes after all. Besides, the bottom line was that Meredith's domestic arrangements weren't any of his business.

After Meredith's offer of help had been duly noted and dismissed by Izzie, she looked for something to clean or even straighten in the living room or the bathroom, but there was nothing left to be done. When the prospect of a lack of distraction for the next half hour had Meredith on the edge of hyperventilation, Mark made a lascivious suggestion that earned him a slap on the arm but had Meredith giggling. When the giggling stopped, he reminded her of his promise to play bouncer. When that still didn't stop her from gnawing at her bottom lip, he revealed a hitherto unsuspected talent for faking heart attacks and promised an Oscar-worthy performance should she give the proper signal.


	5. Chapter 5

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 5

Mark's original plan for the evening was to stay quiet and let the evening proceed without any input from himself unless trouble started. However, soon after Meredith's father and his wife arrived, it became clear that unless he joined in the conversation, it would be an almost silent evening. Susan was making a valiant effort, but both Thatcher and Meredith had been reduced to monosyllabic phrases in response to Susan's comments and questions. So, once the drinks had been served (with Thatcher and Meredith requesting doubles), Mark started talking about his job as Head of Plastics, which led to talking about Thatcher's job in medical research and the discovery that he, too, was Dr. Grey (Ph.D.). Eventually, both father and daughter calmed down, and something approaching normal conversation began flowing.

As soon as Thatcher went for a refill of his scotch, Susan asked, "So, Meredith--are you sure there isn't anything we can do for you? Anything at all about your mother's death? Some paperwork? Taking care of her things?"

Mark saw the deer-in-the-headlights look in Meredith's eyes and decided to run interference. This evening was bad enough, having to entertain one miserable excuse for a parent without having to talk about the other. "Susan," he said heartily. "I'm about to join your husband across the room for a refill. Can I get you anything? Meredith?"

Susan, still nursing a club soda, declined, but Meredith gratefully handed over her shot glass. Mark walked behind Susan's chair and then silently put his hand to his chest and raised his eyebrows. Meredith declined his offer with an unobtrusive nod of her head, but the offer of support relaxed her enough to be able to respond to Susan's question.

"No, really. Everything's already been taken care of. My mother's diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer's gave her plenty of time to put her affairs in order. She gave away whatever she wanted to give away before she entered the nursing home, and her lawyer pretty much took care of all the rest. As soon as he was notified of her death, he filed whatever needed to be filed. I really haven't had to do much at all."

"That doesn't sound like your mother," remarked Thatcher pleasantly as he rejoined the group. "I always pictured her fighting for control until the bitter end." Looking at the dismayed faces of Susan and Mark, he realized what his comment had sounded like, and he tried to find a way to soften it. "Uh, I mean--your mother--she--she could be very forceful, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Meredith nodded, thinking her father had a talent for understatement. "She had the paperwork drawn up months in advance, but refused to sign over power of attorney until after she entered the nursing home. If she'd waited any longer, we would have had to have called for a competency hearing and her secret would have been a matter of public record." Meredith sighed. "That was probably what motivated her to sign the papers."

"Her secret?" asked Susan. "You mean, nobody else knew? Surely you had family helping out. Aunts and uncles? Cousins?"

At that moment, Meredith really resented this woman's smug assumptions about the availability of family. "Which ones, Susan?" she wanted to ask. "Which ones--the ones on Mom's side or the ones on _Dad's_?" But she didn't.

Mark didn't know anything about Meredith's extended family, and guessed by her silence that it either didn't exist or that she'd made as clean a break from hers as he had from his, so he decided to cut in again. "Meredith lives here with a bunch of other interns. They act like each other's family."

Meredith gratefully picked up on Mark's cue. "Yes. Yes! We've formed our own 'family' while we get through our internship year. I've invited them all to dinner tonight so they can meet you. I mean--so you can meet them."

The next few minutes were filled with Meredith giving capsule biographies of each of her friends while Mark sat back and studied Meredith's guests. Thatcher had lived down to his expectations. Mostly awkward and inarticulate--he didn't give the impression he could find his own ass, even if he was allowed to use both hands. A loser if ever he'd seen one. Susan? He wasn't sure about her, yet. He'd been prepared to dislike her for pushing Meredith into a dinner she didn't want, and yet . . . even when she was being nosy by asking Meredith questions about her family, she seemed to care about the answers. He hadn't expected that. In fact, the way she kept the conversation running, trying to create opportunities for Meredith and Thatcher to react to each other's comments, listening attentively now to Meredith babble about people Susan couldn't possibly care less about, reminded him of Mom--of Derek's mother. Not physically, of course. All the Shepherd women were tall brunettes--and soft-spoken wasn't the first adjective that came to mind for any of them, although Kathleen probably came the closest. Still--there was something in her eyes that reminded him so strongly of those happier days back in the Shepherd household that he felt a pang of homesickness--and then immediately cursed himself for feeling that way. He'd decided long ago that there was no sense in living in the past.

Looking around for a distraction of his own, he spotted Izzie trying to signal either him or Meredith, and he assumed the food was ready. He glanced at his watch and then waited for Meredith to finish explaining that O'Malley didn't live there any longer because he'd gotten married. "Meredith, it's almost eight o'clock. Do you want me to help you in the kitchen?"

"Huh?"

"Isn't this when you said you wanted to serve dinner?"

"Dinner?" echoed Meredith blankly. "Oh, yes. Yes, the food." Meredith turned to smile at Thatcher and Susan. "You must be hungry. Why don't you go to the table, and I'll be out with the food in a minute."

Meredith started walking toward the kitchen, and was surprised to find Mark following her. "Mark. Why don't you stay and open the wine?"

So much for catching a break. Mark leaned down so his mouth was right next to her ear. "You owe me for this, Grey," he whispered, and then headed toward the table, where Thatcher was marveling over the table settings, explaining to Susan that it all came from Ellis's good china, the set they'd gotten from her mother as a wedding present.


	6. Chapter 6

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 6

Meredith had calmed down a bit during the conversation in the living room, but the short break spent talking with Izzie allowed her nerves to remind her of the many ways in which the evening could--and probably would--still go wrong. In the time it took to get back to the table, Izzie's beautifully arranged platter full of roast chicken, green beans, and potatoes with a garnish of colorful vegetables had morphed into an unwelcome sign that she cared about what they--what Thatcher--what they thought about her. And she didn't. Care, that is. Not really.

Really.

"Oh, the chicken looks delicious!" enthused Susan, keeping to her role as the evening's cheerleader.

Visibly uncomfortable, Meredith responded with, "It's from the store."

Mark raised an eyebrow. They'd all smelled the dinner cooking while they sipped their drinks; what was Meredith trying to accomplish with the obvious lie?

Thatcher and Susan seemed equally baffled by Meredith's statement, but Susan rallied her forces and again tried to compliment Meredith's preparations. "Well, the green beans look great, as well."

"I didn't do those, either."

In the ensuing silence, not even Susan knew what to say.

At least she was being truthful this time, Mark thought, even if she looked uncomfortable enough to be sitting on the stove Izzie had cooked dinner on. He decided to create a distraction and tapped her on the shoulder.

"The table is beautifully set," he said mischievously, his smile so wide it made his eyes crinkle. "Don't you think so, Meredith?"

Meredith's lips started to curve upward in an unwilling grin. There were times she found his habit of fishing for compliments annoying, but this time it was a godsend. She stuck her tongue out at him as she sat down.

"And the fireplace looks wonderful, too," he continued. "All those flames dancing around in there--looks good. What do you folks think?" he asked disarmingly, turning his gaze to Susan and Thatcher.

Susan was smiling with relief at the turn the conversation had taken. "I take it we have you to thank for the table and the fire. They're lovely."

"Yes, quite lovely," added Thatcher.

"You think you're pretty smart, don't you?" asked Meredith wryly. "Yes, Mark set the table and laid the fire," she added to Susan and Thatcher before briefly touching Mark's shoulder.

"Thanks," she said with a soft smile.

The next few minutes were taken up with serving the food. The flavor of the food was duly praised, and Meredith caught herself in time before giving Izzie proper credit as their chef.

Before the conversation could properly move on to other subjects, Alex walked in. Meredith relievedly dragged him over to the table and included him in the dinner. Mark asked a for an update on a Jane Doe patient they'd operated on earlier that day, and Mark was relieved to know that both mother and unborn baby were still doing well, especially after Alex reported that Addison, the OB-GYN surgeon who had opposed the surgery, was still on the warpath.

Once that topic was disposed of, another lull descended on the conversation. Meredith decided to take Izzie's advice to ask about her new niece, Laura. Even baby poop would be an easier topic to handle than all the things she wanted to--but couldn't--say to her father. "How's the baby?"

Both grandparents' faces immediately lit up. "Great!" said Susan.

Thatcher was eager to talk about Laura's latest milestone. "She's smiling now, sometimes. Looks exactly like Molly when she smiles. I mean, it's amazing. I've got this old picture of Molly and me when she was . . . I don't know . . . five? . . . and she's sitting on this red sled in the snow, this great big fir tree. . . ."

Meredith stopped all movement, including breathing. She'd known ever since Molly had shown up at the hospital that she had sisters who had replaced her in Thatcher's affections. It still came as a blow, however, to find out that she'd been replaced in his memory as well.

Susan cast a worried glance at Meredith before trying to stop her husband from doing any further damage. "You know, I'm not sure that that. . . ."

Thatcher cut her off, oblivious to the effect his words were having on his audience. "Yeah. No, honey. It's a massive Douglas fir and in the picture, she couldn't look more like the baby. I mean, it's incredible."

Mark suddenly realized something was wrong when he heard Meredith take a shuddering breath before speaking.

"That's me. The red sled and the big fir tree and the park at the middle school and the ugly wool coat. That isn't Molly. It's you and me."

Time seemed to suspend itself in that moment as everyone stilled. Thatcher stared helplessly at Meredith, obviously dismayed at the blunder he had made, but not knowing what he could possibly say to rectify it. Susan looked ruefully at both Thatcher and Meredith, who was also speechless. She'd hoped the two of them would have time to build some happier memories before talking about the painful past, but now they were both going to have to survive a fall into the deep end of pool. This was something they would have to work out between themselves.

Mark studied Meredith closely. She'd spoken quite calmly, considering the subject matter, but the whitened knuckles on the hands she had clenched in her lap and her shallow breathing let Mark know she was more upset than she was letting on. Bastard! He thought it was time to ask Meredith whether she wanted him to play bouncer--assuming Karev didn't get to it first; the intern rose considerably in his estimation when he saw the way Alex's expression hardened after Meredith spoke up.

The tension was suddenly broken by the lights suddenly going out. "Crap!" rang out Izzie's voice from the kitchen. "I think I blew a fuse."

The resulting darkness gave everyone a chance to regain their composure. Thatcher was especially grateful for the respite because it gave him a chance to both do Meredith a favor by resetting the circuit breaker and do himself a favor by giving him a chance to collect his thoughts. "I'll get it," he said before anyone else could volunteer.

"No, you know, I can get it, it's--," Meredith demurred, also anxious for a few moments by herself.

"In the laundry room." Thatcher gave what he hoped was a reassuring nod to Meredith and left before she could argue with him.

"I keep forgetting," said Meredith to Susan, unnerved. "It's his house."

Susan frowned. "No, honey, this is _your_ house. Your home."

"Are you okay, Mer?" asked Alex.

"Yeah, Alex, I'm fine," said Meredith as she leaned back into the reassuring neck squeeze Mark was giving her.

Alex and Mark both got the message; "fine" was Meredith-speak for "I'm not fine but I don't want to talk about it."

"Good." Alex waited a moment in case Meredith wanted to add anything; when she didn't, he apologized for eating and running, explaining that he had someone waiting for him. Meredith and Susan both thanked him for stopping by; then Alex rose, plate in hand, and said he'd thank Izzie for dinner on his way out.

Meredith was grateful that the light from the candles and the fireplace was soft enough to hide her blush. "Uh--"

Susan diplomatically decided to steer the conversation in another direction entirely. "So, Mark," she said brightly, "You're in charge of the plastic surgery department at the hospital. I thought department directors would think themselves too important to make friends with interns. How do you and Meredith know each other?"

Meredith was stunned into silence. She had no desire to rehash her role in the Mark-Addison-Derek triangle that had brought them together, nor did she care to explain that Mark was her fuck buddy. She supposed she could simply call Mark her boyfriend and explain the lie to Mark later so that he wasn't spooked, but she didn't want to lie to Susan, either.

Mark waited for Meredith to speak, willing to support whatever story she came up with.

"Well, Mark is a friend," she babbled. "And my boss. Well, not really my boss. Dr. Bailey is my boss. And he's her boss. Although not really, because she's a resident and she reports to her boss, the Chief Resident. And the Chief of Surgery, that's Dr. Webber. So, he's a friend. Mark, that is. A friend." Meredith reached for her wineglass to give herself a moment to catch her breath.

Mark could play along with this. "So, Grey, I'm not your boss?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "Who decides whether you get to scrub in on my surgeries?"

Relieved to have found a successful misdirection, Meredith and Mark enthusiastically squabbled over the meaning of "boss," eventually appealing to Susan for a ruling on the matter.

Susan just smiled. "You two should know--I get it. You're friends with benefits."

Meredith's fork clattered to her plate while Mark grinned. As long as it didn't mean he'd have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on Meredith, he could appreciate Susan's candor.

"Don't worry about shocking me. I may be a grandmother, but I've raised two girls who are almost your age, Meredith. I know the lingo. And--you're grown. Your choices are your business, even if I am nosey enough to ask about them."

She turned to Mark. "I must say that I approve of her choice of you. You've been very attentive to her this evening. Not many friends would help another friend through such an awkward evening, benefits or not."

Now it was Mark's turn to blush. "Thank you, ma'am."

Meredith, Susan, and Mark just looked at each other quietly (although Mark reached under the table to give Meredith's hand a squeeze, which she gratefully returned). After two consecutive conversational landmines, silence seemed the safer option. After a while, though, Meredith began to worry that Thatcher had forgotten where the laundry room was. "Do you think he's okay?" she asked Susan.

"He'll find it," she assured Meredith.

"He probably can't see." Meredith started getting up. "There's a flashlight in the closet. I'll just--"

"Don't worry about it, Mer. I'll take care of it." He winked at Susan. "After all, I have a reputation to uphold, now."

"Which closet?"

"Coat closet. Pegged to the wall on your right, at eye level. _My_ eye level," she specified.

"Excuse me," said Mark to Susan as he put his napkin on the table. Then he turned to Meredith as he started backing away. "By the way, my offer still stands."

"No, thank you," said Meredith with a shake of her head and a sideways glance toward Susan.

Mark shrugged and ambled toward the closet, one ear still on the conversation at the table.

"So was that an offer to beat up your father? If it was, thank you for saying no."

Meredith stared at Susan, wondering if the woman was psychic. "Not exactly. More like--look, I'm sorry--"

"Meredith, there's no need to apologize," Susan said soothingly. "It's going fine."

"I just . . . I just don't know what to say to him," admitted Meredith.

Susan reached across the table to pat Meredith's hand. "Well, it's not easy to make conversation with your father when he's being . . . awkward. It's because he's afraid of you, you know."

Meredith found that idea unlikely. She was the one who hadn't been important enough to remember. She was the one who had been found wanting. "I shouldn't have bit his head off," she said ruefully. "I wish I could have just. . . ." She swallowed hard, fighting to keep a long list of regrets from overwhelming her. She knew better than to play "what if," especially when it came to her father. She knew his leaving wasn't her fault. She did. But. . . .

Susan brought her focus back to the present. "Meredith, it's okay to get angry. It's you in the picture."

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

Mark stopped at the door to the laundry room, watching Thatcher rock in the rocking chair. "Typical," he thought to himself. "Not even man enough to flip the switch on a circuit breaker." He wondered what could have possessed a woman like Susan to marry a loser like Thatcher.

Mark moved the flashlight around the room until he found the fuse box and flipped the switch himself. Then he stared at Thatcher, who was staring at the ceiling.

"You don't like me."

"No shit, Sherlock," thought Mark.

"That's all right. If I were Meredith's friend, I wouldn't like me, either."

Mark relaxed slightly at that remark. At least the guy wasn't _totally_ clueless. "Are you coming back? The women are waiting."

Thatcher shook his head briefly. "You go along. I'll be there in a minute. I just need a little break."

"This is why I stopped bothering with girlfriends," Mark thought disgustedly. "Sex isn't worth this kind of bullshit." "Your loss," he said aloud and turned to go.

"You think I abandoned her, don't you? I bet that's what Meredith thinks, too, even though I told her it was her mother's doing."

Mark turned back, amazed that Thatcher thought he'd offered some kind of defense. "You walked out on a five-year-old and didn't talk to her again until she became an intern and you ran into her accidentally--more than ten years after she became an adult and your ex-wife had no legal standing to keep you from seeing her. That's abandonment in my dictionary." Mark stared steadily at him. "And as for your bitch of an ex-wife, that's the person you left your daughter with. So you're right, Dr. Grey. I don't like you."

Thatcher looked at floor shamefacedly. "You sound a lot like my wife." He looked up at Mark. "She uses softer language, and she's sympathetic--but she makes the same points. She's been after me to contact Meredith for some time." His eyes dropped to the floor again.

Mark struggled for a response. Thatcher didn't deserve anything but contempt, but Meredith didn't deserve to have him disappear again if she wanted to establish a relationship with him--and apparently, she did. So, he had to find a way to let the guy off the hook. "Well, that proves one good thing about you," admitted Mark finally.

Thatcher looked up, startled. He hadn't expected any compliments from Meredith's defender.

"You have great taste in women."

Thatcher smiled and nodded. "That I do--as do you, apparently. Shall we join them?" He got up and headed toward the door, only to be stopped by Mark's hand on his chest.

"I have one more thing to say to you. If I were Meredith, I would have slammed the door in your face. I don't know what this dinner is about--whether you want to start a relationship with Meredith or whether you just showed up tonight to keep your wife from nagging you. Whatever it is--DON'T make promises you're not gonna keep. You've hurt her enough." Mark narrowed his eyes. "Have I made myself clear?"

Wide-eyed, Thatcher nodded silntly.

Mark stepped to the side and waved toward the dining area. "After you."


	7. Chapter 7

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 7

The rest of the evening went well. Once Mark and Thatcher returned, they found Meredith and Susan advising Cristina on how to manage ex-boyfriend Colin Marlowe's attempts to interfere with her engagement to Preston Burke. Cristina set off shortly thereafter, leaving Susan and Mark to squabble over which of them would help Meredith clear the table and serve dessert. They wound up deciding to do it themselves so that she and Thatcher could spend some time together.

The resulting conversation would never win any awards for wit or grace--but it did give Meredith a chance to thank

Thatcher for his tip on earplugs. The rest of the time was spent on shop talk--whether the grant Thatcher was working under would get renewed, how much Meredith was looking forward to completing her internship, the latest gossip on who would win the Harper-Avery, etc. Fortunately, it didn't take long to load the dishwasher and come back with dessert. Susan asked Meredith for the name of the fabulous bakery she'd gotten the apple pie from, but she asked with a wink and a smile, so Meredith assumed she was forgiven for her earlier white lie.

By the time they'd finished dessert, it was time for Thatcher and Susan to leave. Although no one said anything outright, it was obvious that nerves had left everyone exhausted. Uncharacteristically, Mark volunteered to finish the clean-up so that Meredith could say her good-byes. Meredith raised an eyebrow at that and asked him what his services were going to cost her. Mark's expression grew so salacious that Meredith immediately started taking Thatcher and Susan's coats out of the closet. Susan might be a broad-minded modern parent, but Meredith didn't feel up to testing her father's views on her sex life.

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

Mark came out to the porch to find Meredith rocking on the porch swing and looking pensive. "The dishwasher is running and the leftovers are put away. So, was the evening a success?" he asked as he leaned against the side of the swing.

"The swing works," said Meredith, holding a metal pin up for his inspection. "My--Thatcher. He said he put this in the swing when I was small because I used to catch my fingers in it."

Mark took the pin and listened as she continued. "I guess he never told my mother that he'd done that. When we came back from Boston, she said that the people who rented the house while we were gone must have broken it, so we never used it."

Meredith took a deep breath. "It was real."

Mark's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "The pin?"

"No."

Mark waited for an explanation.

Meredith realized she'd been speaking too cryptically to be understood. "No. Well, yes, but no." She took the pin from him. "Yes, this is real. But what's also real is my memory of him--and his memory of me. After his mistake about the picture, I felt like I'd made him up--that my memories of him loving me were just stories I made up to make myself feel better about not having a father. But they were real."

Mark wished he knew what to say. If Meredith had been talking about Susan, he would have happily encouraged her good mood. But Thatcher? Mark suspected the only way Meredith was going to see him again was if Susan pressed the issue--and that didn't sound good for anyone. He sat down beside her and took her hand. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Meredith looked at him and shrugged. She had no idea what she wanted except to be alone to process what had happened.

Mark nodded. He suspected he already knew the answer to his next question, but he had to ask. "So, Grey, the night is still young, and I did make some promises. Shall we go upstairs, or would you like to go out first?"

"Not tonight, Mark," she said with a wan smile. "Why don't you go to Joe's and pick out a live one? You deserve it after all your hard work." She giggled. "After all you've done tonight, you've earned triplets. Go find yourself some triplets, and have a shot of tequila while you think of me."

"Triplets?" Mark grinned. "I've must've been very good to earn triplets." He leaned over to give her a kiss. "And you," he paused to deliver a firm swat to one hip, "are very bad to tell me to drink that Mexican rotgut you order every time we go out."

Meredith stuck her tongue out at him for the second time that evening. "I'll convert you some day when you're ready to appreciate the finer things in life."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Do you realize you just used one of my lines?" he asked wryly.

"That doesn't mean it's not true." Meredith sighed and looked down at the pin in her hands. This running argument of theirs was normally a lot of fun, but she just didn't have the energy to be interested in it.

"Okay, Grey. I'll declare myself the winner of this round and go look for my triplets." He winked devilishly. "Wish me luck." Mark started to get up, but was stopped by Meredith pulling him in for several long kisses. When she finished, Mark had to wait a moment for his head to clear before he asked, "Changed your mind about tonight? What about my triplets?"

"I haven't changed my mind," answered Meredith, who then planted a kiss on his hand and grinned. "Just saying thank you the way I know you like best."

"Next time, Grey. Next time you and I have the same night off together--that's when you'll say thank you." Mark proceeded to kiss Meredith in the way that _she_ liked best, and then backed off. "And I intend to be a very satisfied man," he warned her and then laughed as he headed for his car.


	8. Chapter 8

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 8

It was 5:30 a.m. at the Grey-Stevens-Karev household and everyone was busy getting ready for rounds when the doorbell rang.

"Susan!" Mark greeted Meredith's stepmother with a hug and a kiss on the cheek before picking up the grocery bags at her feet. His grin was infectious. "Come on in. What can we do for you?"

"Good morning to you, too, Mark," answered Susan. "With a welcome like that, who needs coffee?" She held out her hands for the grocery bags. "I can take those--but I'd love it if you could get the others from the back seat of my car."

"No problem." Mark headed out the front door.

"Hi, Izzie."

Izzie, eyes half-closed, shuffled past Susan in her pink bathrobe, muttering something that might or might not have included a greeting but definitely included the word coffee. That opened up two possibilities. "Shall I make some coffee?" Susan guessed.

Izzie shook her head from side to side as she mounted the stairs.

"Then . . . the coffee's ready?"

Izzie made what could be interpreted as a "thumbs up" gesture before disappearing to the second floor.

By the time Mark got back with the groceries, Susan already had a mug waiting for him. "Dark, no sugar--like your cappuccino, right?"

Mark suppressed a grimace--American coffee was what he drank in the doctor's lounge when there were no interns available and he didn't have time to get his own cappuccino--but he accepted the mug without a murmur. "Perfect." He took a couple of sips before hastily putting the mug to one side. "What should I do with these?" he asked, motioning toward the bags.

"Just put them on the table. I'll unpack while you have breakfast. I've already eaten."

Mark happily sat at the kitchen counter and grabbed an orange while he watched Susan work.

"How's Meredith?"

"Showering, I think," said Mark. "Would you like some help with those groceries?" He grinned. "I'm good at reaching the top shelves."

Susan noticed his evasion. "No, I think I'd like to leave these groceries where everyone can reach them. But thanks for the offer." She held out her hand. "Can you pass me another bag, please?"

"Here's two."

"So," Susan said as she started unpacking the soy milk and juices, "I suspect my welcome from Meredith won't be quite as warm as my welcome from you. Have I done something to upset her?"

Mark hesitated, knowing that there was no good way to answer that question. Yes, Meredith was upset, but for no reason Mark could understand. The woman brought groceries and asked questions. Caring questions. Okay, nosey questions--but not once had she done it in a disapproving fashion. Most people would kill to have that kind of a mother--and all Meredith could do was make sarcastic comments about "fake Mommy." After Ellis, she should be overjoyed to be given a real mother, even if that loser, Thatcher, was part of the deal.

Mark's silence confirmed Susan's suspicions that something was going on. "Mark, I'm not asking you to violate Meredith's confidence. But if there's anything you can tell me about what I've done wrong, I'd appreciate it. She gives me these funny looks, but she doesn't talk to me."

Mark tossed his orange peels into the garbage can while he tried to come up with an explanation. "You're too nice," was what he finally came up with.

Susan furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Meredith's an independent woman," Mark shrugged. "If you try to give her too much help, she feels crowded."

Susan thought this over. "So--I'm crowding her?"

Mark shrugged again. It was the best explanation he could come up with.

"With . . . after Ellis died, I gave her some time. But I want to be here. I want to help make things easier." Susan looked unhappily at the bags of groceries still waiting to be unpacked. "Should I not have done this?"

Mark hated to see the look on Susan's face. "No, the groceries are fine. You just need to give her a little time. She's not used to having a mother."

Susan sighed. "So, I guess the only thing I can do is keep showing up and hope she gets used to me. Right?"

Mark nodded, relieved that Susan hadn't decided to stay away. Even if Meredith thought she didn't like having Susan around, she'd get over it. Susan was a good person, a good mom. This would work out.

Moved by an impulse to do something nice for Susan, Mark reached into the fruit bowl and grabbed the topmost fruit. "Want a banana?"

"No, you hang on to it," she said distractedly, trying to remember where she should put the snacks. "I have to finish unpacking and get out of here. My principal won't appreciate a roomful of sixth graders left unsupervised."

Mark didn't want the banana, so when he heard footsteps behind him, he turned around to offer it to whoever was coming in.

"No, Mark, I don't want to play with your banana this morning," said Meredith amusedly. "I need to--Susan! You're here." Meredith threw Mark a dirty look, clearly admonishing him for not warning her. Mark found himself shrugging yet again.

"Hi, Meredith."

Meredith surveyed the bags still on the kitchen table. "This is all you?"

Susan smiled uncertainly. "I just picked up some things to restock your fridge."

Mark tried to provide a distraction. "Meredith, would you like some coffee?" he asked as he brought her a mug.

It didn't work. "You brought groceries last week."

Mark tried again with the line Derek's mom used every time they complained about being sent to the supermarket. "Yeah, you have to do it every week, if you want more."

Meredith flashed Mark a look that promised he'd be spending all his evenings at Joe's for the next month if he didn't keep quiet. Then she turned to Susan. "Well, thank you," she said firmly. "But it's unexpected, and you didn't need to do all this."

Before the moment could turn really awkward, Alex walked in and started rummaging through the bags on the table. "Is this for everybody?"

"Absolutely." Susan smiled. At least the men of the household were happy about her visit. She'd have to be content with their reactions for the time being.

Driving in with Meredith and/or some of the other interns was always a possibility when Mark stayed over, but the looks Meredith had been giving him suggested that he'd have a calmer commute going in alone, so he decided to leave early. "I'm heading in. I've got back-to-back surgeries today."

"Wow. Sounds busy. Anything special?" asked Susan.

"The facelift and the tummy tuck are routine, but I may also be doing reconstructive surgery on a burn victim. I'm hoping we can schedule the procedure for this afternoon, but I won't know until I see today's tests. He's not healing as quickly as I'd like."

"Well, I'm not going to worry about him. He's got you for his doctor, and you're the best there is." Susan held out her hand. "May I have another bag, please?"

Mark shook his head and grinned. "Were you ever a cheerleader? Someone should buy you pom-poms and a mini-skirt." Before he handed over the shopping bag, he kissed her cheek and gave her a bear hug that literally lifted her off the floor. "See you soon."

Alex raised an eyebrow at the image of Susan in a cheerleader outfit, but he knew better than to comment on it. He liked having a roof over his head and surgeries to scrub in on.

Meredith waited with ill-concealed impatience. "Are we going?"

Mark pretended to be surprised by her question. "Are you coming with me? I thought you'd go in with Karev or Stevens."

"No, I'm going in with you. We need to talk."

"Damn!" thought Mark. He knew that nothing good ever came out of a conversation that starts with a woman saying, "We need to talk." So much for a peaceful morning commute.


	9. Chapter 9

Families

Baéz - Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 9

Meredith knew she had only a few minutes in the car with Mark, so she decided not to waste any time. As soon as he pulled away from the curb, she spoke up. "You have to stop encouraging her."

Mark concentrated on making a left turn while he contemplated his response. "I didn't ask her to come over, Meredith. You did."

"Yes. _Weeks_ ago!" she snapped. "At your suggestion. So I could throw them out if it got unbearable. Mark, it's getting unbearable. And you're part of the problem."

"What's your problem, Grey? The woman dropped by for ten minutes to drop off some groceries and I thanked her." Mark's temper flared. It was bad enough that Meredith was rude to Susan, but then to blame him for whatever problem she was having was just crap.

"No, you _encouraged_ her. You made her think that what she's doing is a good thing. It's like putting food out in the backyard for the animals. You do it one day and one squirrel or bird or whatever shows up. The next day, two or three of its friends show up, so you feel like you have to put out some more food. Then more of them show up, and before you know it, you've got a freakin' menagerie out there every day and you can't stop feeding them or else they'll starve because _you_ got them used to finding food there."

If Mark hadn't been so aggravated, he would have found her rant cute. As it was, he simply wondered how she hadn't noticed how ridiculous her temper tantrum was, and decided to answer her illogic with some of his own. "Grey, there's just one problem with your argument. Susan is bringing food, not asking for it."

Meredith clenched her fists as she tried to control the volume of her voice. "Stop encouraging her. No more hugs, _no_ more kisses, and NO more compliments." She lowered her voice into a fair approximation of Mark's register. "'Were you ever a cheerleader? Someone should buy you pom-poms and a mini-skirt.' Seriously? I mean, _seriously_?"

It wasn't until Mark heard his own words out of Meredith's mouth that he realized he'd made a possible double entendre, and he felt a second or two of nauseated panic before he told himself that everyone in the room had heard the compliment the way he meant it.

Fortunately, Meredith didn't notice his momentary freak-out because she was still in full rant mode. "I'm sorry. I know you like her, but this is too much. She keeps showing up. I need you to promise me that you'll stop being nice to her."

Mark spotted Seattle Grace in the distance. Soon the conversation would be over, and it probably made sense just to let the topic rest until Meredith was less agitated. But he couldn't let it go. "I don't get it. You liked her when we had dinner with her, but now that she's acting like she cares about you, you don't want her around."

Meredith's voice rose again. "She keeps showing up _uninvited_. She wants something from me. She wants me to be her daughter, or her charity case, or the thing she needs to fix. I don't want to be any of those things. I can't."

The traffic had gotten thick enough for Mark to be able to do no more than throw a quick glance of irritation Meredith's way. "She's not asking you for anything. Haven't you noticed?"

Meredith snorted. "Don't be so naive. Nobody is this nice for no reason. She wants something from me."

"And I thought I was a cynic." Mark shook his head. "She's a mom. And she wants to be your mom, too. Why would you want to throw that away?"

Meredith closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then she counted again and reminded herself that it's not a good idea to hit someone repeatedly while he's driving. How dare this stupid, stupid man tell her about mothers? She'd had enough experience with her own mother to know exactly how far they were to be trusted.

Come to think of it, what did he know about mothering, anyway? She'd never heard him say a word about his own mother, not even when she'd asked him for stories about his childhood. The only thing he'd ever talk about from those days was sports. His mother didn't have to be around even as a topic of conversation, but it was okay for him to shove her constantly hovering stepmother down her throat? Fuck him! "So, Susan 'just wants to be my mom,' huh? What makes you such an expert on mothers, anyway, Mr. Derek-is-my-family? Why don't you tell me all about _your_ wonderful mother?"

From the look on Mark's face, it was obvious she'd hit paydirt.

Fortunately, they were almost at their parking space because Mark wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to control his anger. Once it became clear by their silence that the Shepherds no longer considered him part of the family, he'd promised himself that he wouldn't dwell any longer in the past. He'd chosen Addison over Derek and his family and accepted the consequences. And as for the sleazy, predatory bitch who given birth to him, he'd left her behind an even longer period of time ago and wasn't about to revisit her, even in memory.

The rest of the ride was conducted in silence. Meredith was still angry at Mark for his obstinate refusal to take her concerns about Susan seriously, but she was also afraid she'd gone too far in her fight. She was used to blowing up at Mark on a semi-regular basis, but she'd never seen him react this way. His usual response was either to make fun of her and then give her what she wanted; or, if that wasn't possible, he'd keep offering alternative options until she was satisfied—or at least mollified. She'd never seen him angry to the point of speechlessness with a look of cold rage replacing his normal good-naturedly sarcastic demeanor.

By the time they got out of the car, Meredith was ready to apologize. "Mark--"

Mark slammed the door of his car. "Do whatever you want about Susan, Meredith," he barked. "Just leave me out of it."

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

As it turned out, Mark's burn patient was running a fever and the surgery had to be postponed. With nothing else scheduled and absolutely no desire whatsoever to run into Meredith or anyone who could remind him of Meredith, Mark left early.

Meredith waited a few hours before she went looking for Mark so that they could both cool down and have a rational discussion of the morning's events. Not only had Mark left by the time she went looking for him, he also wasn't returning her calls. So, on the off chance he was planning to return later to check on his patients, she stuffed a note into his locker asking him to come by that evening. Unfortunately, Mark checked in by phone, and so didn't see the message.

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

Mark stood by the coffee cart in the SGH lobby, wearily rubbing his eyes. "Quadruple-shot bone-dry cap, extra-large" he ordered. "Damn, but it's been a long time since I've taken 'home' three women at one time," Mark thought. Maybe I'm getting too old for this shit."

Coffee in hand, he walked over to the promenade overlooking the lobby and stared out of the picture window. As the caffeine revived him, he rethought his evening. Based on what he could remember, the women had given him a _very_ pleasant reward for his efforts. Maybe it was the alcohol he needed to cut down on, and not the women.

"Hey," said Meredith softly as she moved next to him.

"Was there something you wanted, Dr. Grey?" asked Mark harshly, all traces of sleepiness gone. He had no intention of letting her sandbag him again.

"I'm sorry," said Meredith in that same soft tone as she stared down at her mocha latte. "I shouldn't have pushed you."

Mark felt torn in two directions. He was still angry at Meredith for her unexpectedly vicious attack and unwilling to risk a second round even as his reason argued that Meredith had no way of knowing how deeply he'd been upset by what she'd said.

Meredith held out her right hand and looked up at him. "Friends?"

Reluctantly, Mark took her hand, but only because he couldn't come up with a good reason not to. "Friends. But I meant what I said, Meredith. I'm staying out of whatever happens between you and Susan."

"You don't have to worry about that," Meredith hastened to reassure him, more than a little surprised and dismayed at the stiffness of his handshake. "Susan's not a problem any more."

Mark raised an eyebrow to signal his disbelief but kept quiet.

"No--we talked. Susan and I--we talked, and it's okay. You were right--well, we were both right--about her wanting something from me, but I can handle it. It's okay."

If Meredith meant what she was saying, it sounded like good news, but Mark wanted to be sure. "So my saying 'hello' and 'thank you' to Susan won't have you going apeshit crazy on my ass anymore?"

Hmm. Meredith thought the phrase "apeshit crazy" was an over-the-top description of her behavior, but realized this probably wasn't the time to discuss it. "No. You can say 'hello' and 'thank you' to Susan without me going 'apeshit crazy on your ass.'" She rubbed his shoulder, noting unhappily that the muscles were still tense. "I'm sorry."

They stood there awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Mark said something about needing to do rounds and Meredith realized she was supposed to have already joined Bailey on her own rounds. They stared at each other a moment longer, wondering whether they should shake hands or kiss or whatever--then they muttered "see ya" and hurried off to their respective locker rooms.

Page 4 of 4


	10. Chapter 10

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 10

After a couple of days of not looking for Mark because she didn't quite know what to say to him, Meredith was pleasantly surprised to hear that he had asked for her to scrub in on a facial reconstruction for a sixteen-month-old conjoined twin who'd recently been separated from her sister--and then less pleasantly surprised to find out that she was scrubbing in with Dr. Blackfeather, a pediatric surgical attending, while Mark worked on the other twin with Alex as his intern.

Mark and Alex's team scrubbed out first, so Meredith had to go looking for Alex to offer him her congratulations at having scored a surgery with the Head of Plastics. She found him in the pediatric post-op ward, checking his twin's vitals. "How'd it go?" she whispered, mindful of the sleeping patients.

"Not bad," Alex said softly. She needs more work, but it looks like we rebuilt her jaw well enough for her to start eating and speaking normally--for now, anyway." Alex finished writing the last sentence on the chart. "Yours?"

"About the same," Meredith nodded, "although Isabela looks a lot better than Gabriela, since she got most of their joint cheekbone in the original surgery." She sighed. "Poor kids. They're still getting used to not being attached to each other 24-7, and now they have another surgery to recover from."

"Lucky kids," Alex corrected her. "If that Nicaraguan church hadn't arranged a fundraising drive to get them here and Sloan and Blackfeather hadn't agreed to work pro bono, they'd still be stuck together with no hope of separation."

"I guess so," said Meredith. She knew Alex was right, but she still couldn't forget how the little girls hadn't willingly let each other out of their sight after they'd finally been separated by their last surgery.

Her musings were interrupted by the team of nurses bringing in the other twin. She waved the nurses over to where she was standing and turned to Alex. "Help me move that bed next to Gabriela's, so she and Isabela can be together."

Alex and the nurses looked at Meredith uncertainly, and she sighed. "Look, everybody, I'm not crazy," she said softly but with a firm tone. "A few months ago, Alex and I were taking care of quintuplets, and one of them--Charlotte--wasn't thriving until we put in the same isolette as her sister."

"Co-bedding," remarked Dr. Blackfeather, who had just walked into the room. "We usually do it only in the NICU, but with these two, you're probably right that they'll recuperate better together. Good call, Dr. Grey."

It didn't take long after that for the beds to be put together and the twins settled.

Once the others had left, Meredith asked Alex to watch the twins for a half hour while she took a dinner break; he was going off duty soon while she was working the night shift. Upon her return, Alex told her that Blackfeather had already checked on the twins and signed out, but that Sloan hadn't shown up yet.

"Hmm," commented Meredith, trying to keep any undue interest out of her voice while she examined the twins' charts. "That's not like him. Did he seem okay during surgery?"

Alex shrugged. "The usual. Made me get his damned cappuccino before surgery. The man is world's biggest jackass outside the operating room--but inside?" Then the expression on Alex's face changed and his voice grew almost reverential. "Man, you wouldn't believe the way he put that kid's cheek and jaw together. She's gonna be able to eat and talk like a normal person even after she gave most of her face to her sister."

Meredith smiled past the lump in her throat. While she was disappointed that the surgery hadn't turned out to be the peace offering from Mark she'd originally assumed it was, she was glad that Alex had had a chance to scrub in on a procedure that excited him so much. For all the jokes about Alex joining the gynie squad once Addison forced him to stay on her service as a punishment, it looked as if Alex had known his true calling all along.

They spent the next fifteen minutes or so discussing their respective surgeries, with Alex doing most of the talking. By the time that discussion petered out, it was past time for Alex to leave, but Meredith could see that he didn't want to go without making sure Mark knew he had stuck around. "Go ahead, Alex. I'll let Sloan know you were waiting for him."

"Sloan?" asked Alex with a grin.

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Yes, Sloan. Dr. Mark Sloan, Head of Plastics. The guy you scrubbed in with this afternoon. The guy whose praises you've been singing for the past half hour. Have you heard of him?" She crossed her arms and looked squarely at him. "This is getting ridiculous, you know. Why don't you all have a meeting and decide what you want me to call him? Then maybe we won't have to keep wasting time every time I mention his name."

"What's the matter, Mer? Getting jealous?"

Alex's grin had turned smug during Meredith's mini-tirade, but it faded when she went back to staring at the charts and didn't answer his question. "Meredith?"

Meredith looked up to see Alex's brown eyes staring at her uneasily. "I'm fine, Alex. It's just--." Meredith hesitated, wondering what she could say since even she wasn't sure what was going on in her relationship with Mark.

"Are you guys fighting?" asked Alex bluntly.

Meredith quickly shook her head no. "No, not fighting. We're just . . . weird." She shrugged and looked at Alex. "Just weird."

"Weird, huh?" Alex shook his head. Given how well he knew both of them, he was certain it was Sloan causing the problem. He'd meant what he said about the guy being the world's biggest jackass outside of the OR, no matter what Meredith said. She was the only person he knew whose love life was more messed than his own. He hoped he wasn't going to have to kick Sloan's ass on her behalf. Jackass or not, Sloan was still one of the best in his field and the kind of potential mentor that could kick a guy's career into the stratosphere. Still, he had to make the offer. Given his mercurial whims, Sloan was only a longshot possibility as a teacher or mentor, while Meredith was a friend who'd stuck up for him on several occasions. "Do you need me to kick his ass for you?"

Meredith was touched by Alex's offer, especially considering the timing. They'd be residents soon, so there was a chance that Mark might actually follow up this procedure with other opportunities to let Alex in on future surgeries. Unlike his interns, Mark's residents actually got to participate in surgeries in meaningful ways once they'd proven themselves. "No thanks, Alex. I think your chances of scrubbing in with him again will be significantly improved by you staying out of it. This. Whatever."

Relieved that he wouldn't need to make good on his offer, Alex still wanted to let Meredith know he was on her side. "Whatever you need, Grey," he offered, and then looked at his watch. "I'm off-duty now," Alex observed, crooking an eyebrow at Meredith to let her know he'd stick around if she wanted him to.

"Go. Have fun. Celebrate this surgery for the both of us." She grinned. "Tell Joe your first beer tonight is on me."

Alex thanked Meredith with a wink and headed toward the locker room.

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

A couple of hours later, Mark walked into the Peds post-op to find the twins' parents crying by their bedside, but the monitors showed nothing out of the ordinary for post-op patients their age. He turned to Meredith. "Dr. Grey?" he asked gruffly while warily eying the tearful Morenos.

"They were asking to see the babies," explained Meredith, handing him both charts.

"You don't say," muttered Mark, trying but failing to hide his irritation as he perused the charts. He really hadn't come back to work so he could fight with Meredith. Still, while letting parents into the Peds post-op wasn't exactly a breach of protocol, it wasn't customary, either--and he had little to no patience for tears. "Why are they crying? According to the charts, the babies are stable."

"Well, Dr. Sloan," said Meredith formally, determined to keep things on a strictly professional level, "my high school Spanish is mostly limited to ordering in Mexican restaurants these days, but from what I can tell, they are thanking God for Gabriela's and Isabela's successful surgery." She'd be damned before she put herself out there with another apology when he was acting like such an ass.

Mark nodded; it wasn't going to be as bad as he'd thought. "Is there anything else I should know about?"

"No, Dr. Sloan," Meredith replied frostily. "You'll find that everything has been properly charted since the Moreno girls got here."

"Excuse me, Dr. Grey," retorted Mark, surprised and hurt at Meredith's attitude. "I thought an intern like yourself would have been thrilled to scrub in on such a complex procedure--especially when I specifically requested that her intern friend scrub in with me--the intern she's been begging me to include in more procedures." He thrust the charts back in her hands. "Since this assignment is obviously an imposition, I'll talk to Dr. Bailey about getting you reassigned."

Oops. The surgery had been an olive branch--even Alex's part. "Mark. . . ?"

Further conversation was made momentarily impossible by the Moreno parents, who had finished their praying and were now coming over to thank Mark for his help. "Dr. Grey, unless your high school Spanish is up to the task of translating for these parents, I strongly suggest that you get someone in here who can help me answer their questions," he growled.

A chastened Meredith went to page a translator while Mark endured further repetitions of "_gracias_" and _bendición_ from the grateful parents. This was why he didn't volunteer for pro bono work. If it weren't for the article he was planning on getting out of this, he'd tell Blackfeather to find another surgeon.

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

After Mark had answered all their questions and the Moreno parents had been sent back to the twins' room to wait for their return, Meredith timidly approached him. "Dr. Sloan, may I buy you a bone-dry cappuccino in the cafeteria?"

Mark looked at her wearily; despite the deliberately casual nature of their relationship, he was surprised at how much it hurt to know that it had ended. "You don't have to do this, Meredith. I get it." He shrugged and then pasted a grin on his face. "It was fun while it lasted."

Meredith, taken aback, hesitated. "While it lasted?" In that moment, she realized that she'd come to think of him as part of her family--an unconventional part--but what part of her family was conventional anyway? She wasn't about to give him up without a fight. "No," protested Meredith. "Please. Can we talk?"

When Mark hesitated, she pressed her advantage. "Five minutes? I've already asked the nurse to keep an eye on the girls."

"Okay. Five minutes," Mark responded warily and jerked his head toward the nearby on-call room closet. Once they'd gotten inside, Mark folded his arms and faced her. "Talk."

Meredith spent a few moments worrying at her lower lip while she gathered her thoughts. Then she set her shoulders and looked up. "Here goes. When I didn't see you for the past few days, I thought you were avoiding me. Then when you asked for me to scrub in but assigned me to Dr. Blackfeather, I thought you were still avoiding me, so I overreacted when you were being your normally grumpy self around the Morenos.

Mark's eyebrow shot up at that remark, but he refrained from commenting.

"I know you don't like families in post-op, but you left without letting anyone know when you'd be back. I thought it would be okay to let them stay for a little while." Meredith took a deep breath. "Thank you for putting Alex on your team. And thank you letting me scrub in with Dr. Blackfeather. I'm sorry for overreacting.""

The seconds ticked endlessly while Mark scrubbed at his cheek and considered his response. Eventually, he shrugged. "You're right. I could point out that I haven't seen you, either, but you're right. I was avoiding you."

"?" asked Meredith wordlessly.

"I didn't want to fight about Susan, and you did. Staying away seemed like a good idea."

Meredith nodded in understanding. She'd been spooked by the fight, too--and there was undeniable truth in Mark's observation that he hadn't seen her, either. She could have gone looking for him instead of leaving their meeting to chance and feeling relieved when there hadn't been any confrontations. Still, he was the one who usually found her, given his greater freedom as an attending. And--

"I told you Susan wasn't a problem any more. In fact, I had dinner with her last night. Thatcher was out of town at a conference, so we went to Serafina's for some pasta and Chianti. We were okay." Meredith paused for a moment and then grimaced wryly. "She asked about you. I didn't know what to say."

Mark cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. "Sorry." He felt like seven different kinds of idiot for not believing Meredith when she first came to apologize. "What made you change your mind?"

Meredith almost let herself sag in relief. The past few minutes had been more tiring than the eight-hour surgery that preceded them. "Susan came back that evening and explained what she wanted. It turns out that she doesn't want to fix me, she wants to fix herself. I can deal with that."

It had been a while since Mark had wished for a translator for Meredith-speak, but he felt like he needed one now. "Your stepmother brings you groceries so she can fix herself?" he asked doubtfully.

Meredith nodded, a small smile playing about her lips. "She says that it's her fault Thatcher didn't come back for me, that she was more concerned about his being there for Molly and Lexie than for me--and now she's sorry and wants to make it up to me." She paused, trying to make it even clearer. "This isn't about me being messed up, or needing to be fixed. She thinks I'm okay. She's the one who's not okay. She feels guilty. See the difference?"

Mark didn't see a difference that made a difference--and frankly, Susan's attempt to take responsibility for Thatcher's failure struck him as more than a little bit dishonest--but he didn't care. What mattered to him was that the drama was over and he and Meredith could remain friends. "Any way you two work it out is fine with me."

They stood looking at each other, relieved that the tension was over but not quite sure what so say or do next. Mark had just about ready to suggest that they go get that coffee when Meredith interrupted his train of thought.

"Where were you? You never take this long to show up after a surgery unless you've been pulled into another one."

Mark was brought up short by Meredith's question. That was news he had intended to share with her, but he hadn't had time yet to figure out how he wanted to present it. He decided to try for a casual tone. "Derek invited me to go to Joe's for a drink."

Meredith was startled into silence at this revelation. She'd been sure Hell had frozen over when she and Derek started talking to each other--but _Mark_ and Derek? Hell hadn't just frozen over--the damned were practicing their double lutzes and triple salchows, getting ready for the Underworld Winter Olympics.

Meredith studied Mark's face carefully, happy to see that there was a smile hiding the disinterested expression he was trying to maintain. "I'm glad," she said softly. "Derek and I talked, too--but I didn't say anything because. . . ."

"I know," said Mark, thinking back to his first conversation with Derek after the big fight and how careful he'd been not to let Meredith know that they talked. He realized guiltily that he never had followed up on those suspicions of Derek's, but consoled himself with the thought that Meredith had had plenty of time to make a second suicide attempt if that was what she had wanted, so Derek's suspicions must have been as crazy as they sounded.

Mark was suddenly seized with a wild urge to celebrate. In one day he'd reconciled with both his brother and his friend, and his friend was okay. Plus, he'd successfully completed another landmark surgery. He turned to Meredith with a leer. "Want to screw?"

Mildly surprised but not unwilling, Meredith started reaching for the strings on her scrubs when her pager beeped. After checking the page, she looked up wryly. "It's the twins--they're waking up. Do you want to come with me to check if they're ready to go back to their room, or do you want me to take care of it?"

"We'll go together. And afterwards, maybe I'll take you up on that cappuccino offer."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Just in case you've forgotten, lowly interns don't get unlimited breaks--and I've just used my coffee break to talk to you." She gave him a Cheshire cat smile. "Considering the circumstances, I think you owe me coffee--caramel macchiato, please."

"You're the one who offered to buy me a cappuccino. You're welshing?" Mark asked in mock-indignation.

"Yes," said Meredith with a grin.

"Fine, I'll pay for the coffee. But, Dr. Grey," he smiled evilly, "paybacks are a bitch."

"We'll see who pays back whom, Dr. Sloan," she announced warningly as she opened the on-call room door and gestured for him to go through.

Page 7 of 7


	11. Chapter 11

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 11

Mark was having a conversation with Richard in the Seattle Grace Hospital lobby when he saw a familiar blond head walking toward him.

"Susan!" he called out, greeting her with a hug and a kiss. Then he turned around to make his introductions. "Chief, this is Susan Grey, Meredith's stepmother. Susan, this is Richard Webber, our Chief of Surgery."

"Oh," said Susan, a look of surprise on her face. Then she recovered her manners and smiled as she extended her hand. "You must be the boss of all bosses Mark and Meredith were talking about over dinner a few weeks ago." Then she hiccupped.

Richard smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you. But I'm afraid our Board of Directors would disagree with your description of my position."

At that moment, both Mark and Richard noticed that Thatcher had been trailing behind Susan. Mark nodded stiffly. "And this is Meredith's father, Dr. Thatcher Grey."

"We've met," said Richard uncomfortably, extending his own hand to shake Thatcher's. "Thatcher, how are you?"

Thatcher chose to put his right hand around Susan's waist instead. "We're quite fine, thank you," he said frostily. Susan responded by laying her head on Thatcher's shoulder.

Mark was confused by how the temperature of the lobby seemed to have dropped so suddenly.

"Well, ah, Dr. Sloan, we'll continue our discussion later," said Richard awkwardly, as he backed away. "Nice to meet you folks." And with a nod of his head, he started walking toward his office with all the speed his dignity would allow.

Susan leaned her head against Thatcher's shoulder. "Sorry, honey," she murmured. "Hic!"

Thatcher pressed a kiss to the side of her forehead. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. You didn't know."

Mark was bewildered by what had happened, but he quickly decided he didn't want to know what was going on. "So, what brings you two to Seattle Grace?"

"Hiccups," said Thatcher, while Susan simultaneously said, "Meredith. Do you know if she's available? Hic!"

"I know she's on duty, but I don't know where she is right now. I can have her paged," Mark offered, silently hoping that Meredith still liked the idea of talking to Susan.

"No, don't do that. Hic! I promised I'd leave her alone until after that big test she's having." Susan smiled. "She promised that once she passes, she'll let me cook--hic!--that pot of chili I promised her a few weeks ago."

Marked nodded thoughtfully. This sounded promising. But if Susan wasn't there to see Meredith, that meant. . . . "Hiccups?" He looked at Susan, whose expression grew decidedly sheepish, and then at Thatcher. "You brought her in for hiccups?" he asked quizzically.

"I know it's silly," Susan interjected. "I have acid reflux, and--hic!--sometimes I get hiccups. Thatcher insisted I see a doctor, and we thought we might be able to catch a glimpse of Meredith here, if she was around."

"What my wife isn't saying, Dr. Sloan," Thatcher said tightly, "is that her hiccups have gotten worse over the past week--and that last night, she wasn't able to sleep at all." Thatcher ignored Susan's squeezing his hand. "I would have taken her to our regular doctor, but Susan insisted on coming here. So, if you'll just direct us to the department in charge of curing hiccups, we'll be on our way."

"Hic!"

It was clear that Thatcher meant to put him in his place, and Mark wasn't quite sure why. Payback for their conversation in the laundry room? Then why wait until now? Because of something he'd said today? Mark shrugged mentally; he wasn't about to get into a pissing match with Thatcher. "Your best bet is to go to the free clinic across the street."

Thatcher's color rose at that comment, and even Susan looked a little surprised. "We have insurance, Mark. We're covered."

Mark realized what his comment had sounded like. "It's your call." He shrugged. "I could set you up with a gastroenterologist here in the main building, but then you wouldn't be able to see Miranda Bailey. Not only is she one of the best doctors in this hospital, she's also Meredith's supervisor. If anybody knows where Meredith is right now, she does."

"That that's where we'll go." Susan smiled. Thank you, Mark," She reached up with her free hand to pull Mark's head down for a kiss on the cheek, and then hiccupped in his ear before whispering, "Sorry."

Susan then turned to Thatcher and patted his shoulder. "Okay, honey, let's go find Dr. Bailey." With a curt nod from Thatcher, they set off toward the front door.

Mark watched them carefully for any signs of trouble. Despite all the weird behavior he'd just witnessed, Susan seemed content to walk with Thatcher's arm curved protectively around her waist. Then he shook his head at himself. Grey women didn't need any champions to defend them, despite occasional appearances to the contrary. If he didn't watch out, he'd turn into Derek and start seeing damsels in distress around every corner.


	12. Chapter 12

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 12

The next day, Meredith paged Mark with a request to meet her at the Emerald City Bar after their respective shifts. Her shift wasn't due to end until a few hours after his did, so he tried to organize a dart game while he waited. Derek agreed, but Preston pleaded an early surgery and left as soon as he finished his beer.

"He doesn't seem to like me," Mark observed as they took their places before the dart board.

"Don't mind him," Derek said amiably. "It took several months before he'd even let me use his first name." Then Derek gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Although he did seem to hit it off with Addison quickly enough."

Mark opted for a distraction rather than a response. "You're up first. I'll keep score."

"Oh, no you won't," Derek laughed. "Cheater!"

"Jeez, you mess up the math one time because you're drunk. . . ." Mark mock grumbled. In truth, the joke had gotten old long before, but it was a part of their history--a thread back to a past when they were closer than most brothers instead of colleagues awkwardly trying to find their way into a new relationship.

Their conversation after that point started with hospital gossip, but soon turned to information about the Shepherd clan, with Mark greedily soaking up whatever information Derek was willing to give. Most of it was small talk--stuff like which nieces and nephews had gotten into the schools of their choice and the scholarships they had won, who'd gotten a promotion, who'd gotten an article published--but Mark was truly surprised to find out that the oldest niece, Kaitlyn, was engaged.

"So, Nancy's about to become a mother-in-law," Mark snickered. "Is Grandmotherhood looming in the near future, too?"

"I don't know," said Derek, throwing the last of his darts. "Why don't you ask her yourself? She's planning on inviting you and Addison for Thanksgiving." Derek strolled over to the dartboard to retrieve his darts and then announced, "Your turn."

Mark stared at Derek, trying to process what he'd just heard. When it became clear that the dumbfounded Mark was incapable of continuing the game, Derek told him to sit down while he got the next round of drinks. Two single-malt scotches later, Mark had only one question: "Why?"

Derek's throat felt like it was closing on him, but he spoke honestly, anyway. "You're family."

Mark briefly considered asking Derek to pinch him to test whether he was dreaming; it seemed impossible to believe that he hadn't imagined what he'd just been hearing. Then he thought about what a return "home" would actually mean--facing all those people when they knew what he'd done to Derek--and Addison.

"Has the rest of the family agreed to this?" Mark asked, firmly quelling the tremor that tried to make its way through his voice. He couldn't imagine that he'd simply be welcomed back with open arms. And Mom--Derek's mom, Mark hastily amended his thought--_her_ reaction? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all.

"Nancy doesn't know and doesn't care what anybody else thinks--as usual," Derek said dryly. "She's giving me a heads up, not veto power. In her words: 'You're all adults and you can decide whether you want to come or not. But it's my home and I won't be told whom I can and can't invite.' She also says that she'll arrange transportation for any niece or nephew who wants to see Aunt Addie and Uncle Mark 'whether their parents are jackass enough to stay away or not.'"

The kids. Mark didn't think of them that often, but when he did, he missed the older ones. He liked playing the permissive uncle, dispensing advice and emergency cash to teenagers reluctant to confess their misdeeds to their parents and helping the older boys train for their respective football tryouts. By now, he thought ruefully, some of those nephews would be able to provide some decent competition in the afternoon family game. Weren't John and Peter playing college ball now?

Derek watching the varying emotions flitting across Mark's face, and he sighed internally. No matter how badly he'd taken the news when Nancy dropped her bombshell, he had to admit she was right. Family was what mattered most. "Are you going?" he asked.

"I--" started Mark, and then he stopped to rub the back of his neck. "I don't know." Mark looked at Derek fixedly turning a dart over and over in his fingers and thought back to what Nancy had said about the others possibly choosing to stay away from his presence. "Are you going?"

Derek shook his head. "I don't know, either." He looked up into Mark's eyes. "I don't know if I'm ready for that--to see you and Addison as part of the family. My head knows you are, but. . . ." Derek felt the urge to move, so he picked up all the darts to bring them back to the bar. He came back with a couple of beers and a bowl of peanuts.

"Derek, I won't go, and neither will Addison," said Mark firmly. "I'll talk to her. You should go. The family hasn't seen you since you moved to Seattle. They miss you."

Derek shook his head again. "They miss you, too. Nancy made that quite clear. And I can go back any time. You should go for Thanksgiving. Rip the band-aid off. Get it over with."

"Derek--."

"No."

Mark thought some more about what the reunion would be like. The kids would probably be okay, and he was assured of at least one friendly face among the grown-ups--Nancy's--but he wasn't sure what kind of a gauntlet he'd have to face from the others. And Mom--

"Derek, I can't go unless you're there," Mark protested. Who'll protect me from Mom--your mother?"

Derek couldn't help but smile at that. No matter how old they'd gotten, there was still a certain satisfaction from the notion that Mom would set things to rights, so far as she was able. Then he refocused on Mark's concern. "You don't need me to protect you. You know how to handle mom," he said matter-of-factly. "Go a few days early and let her get it out of her system. First there'll be yelling, which will be bad, and then crying, which will be worse, and then it will be over. Remember Uncle Frank's affair?" Both men remembered quite easily the family's vivid reaction to their Uncle Frank's indiscretion as well as the eventual reconciliation.

As unpleasant as that narrative sounded, Mark had trouble believing reconciliation could be that easy. "You think so?" he asked wistfully.

Derek briefly considered screwing with Mark's head on the matter, and then relented. "Yeah, I think so." He couldn't make any promises, but the quality of his mother's silence when he told her that he'd started talking to Mark again portended good things (eventually) for Mark's restoration to the rest of the family. If Mom and Nancy wanted it to happen, it would happen.

Derek felt better for having had the discussion, but now he wanted nothing more than to crash. He stood up. "Gotta go. Early surgery tomorrow. You?"

Mark absently glanced at his watch. "No. I'm waiting for Meredith."

Derek breathing took a slight hitch. He was trying to be happy for Mark and Meredith, but some part of him still wondered what might have been if he'd been able to present a better case for himself that day in the bar--that day she told him they were through. "Okay," he said, forcing himself to sound casual. "Tell her I said hi."

Mark nodded, still wrapped up in his own thoughts about Thanksgiving.

Derek tried to lighten the mood. "Go. It'll be fun."

Mark looked at Derek skeptically.

"Okay, it won't be fun. But it'll be . . . it'll be fine. They're your family." Derek grinned. "Go be the black sheep returning to the Shepherd clan."

The atrociousness of the pun got Mark's attention, and he groaned. "That's low, Derek, even for you."

"And so ends the evening's entertainment." Grinning, Derek made a theatrical half-bow and clapped Mark on the shoulder before heading toward the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 13

Derek's departure left Mark in a quandary. The conversation had left his adrenal gland on overdrive, and he wanted nothing more than to go to the gym or at least to go running to burn off some of the excess energy. Unfortunately, it was close enough to the end of Meredith's shift that leaving for even a short period of time meant he'd run the risk of standing her up. On the other hand, depending on what was happening at the hospital, he might have a considerable wait.

Twenty minutes later, Mark was about to call Meredith and ask for a rain check when he felt a pair of arms snaking around his neck and a kiss on his ear. He raised an eyebrow, wondering who was hitting on him so openly. He was used to making the first move.

"Hey! Guess who I spent the day with."

"Meredith!" Mark relaxed. Although he wondered why she was being so uncharacteristically affectionate in public, he was glad for the distraction from his own thoughts. "I thought you were some woman trying to hit on me." He shook his head and grinned. "Too bad."

"Who says I'm not hitting on you?" she murmured before relinquishing her grip and sitting across the table from him. Then she smiled. "Guess who I spent the day with."

Mark looked at Meredith. She was uncommonly happy and relaxed, especially after a thirty-six-hour shift. It must have been an incredible surgery. "I knew you must have gotten offered something good to keep you away from the Moreno twins. So, who did you scrub in with?" He smirked. "Poor Karev, stuck in Peds while you covered yourself with surgical glory."

A guilty look crossed Meredith's face. She truly had intended to check on Gabriela and Isabela before she left, but they'd become the last thing on her mind once Bailey called her into the clinic. "How are they?"

"Stable. No complications."

"Good." She smiled. "Guess who I spent the day with."

Mark narrowed his eyes and growled. Distraction was good, but not if it came in form of an annoying guessing game.

Meredith put her hands up in mock-surrender. "Okay. I'll tell you. It was Thatcher. Susan, too--but mostly Thatcher."

"Thatcher needed surgery?" Mark was confused. Why would Meredith be operating on her father? And why would she be smiling about it?

"No, he didn't need surgery. Susan did."

Mark nodded. This made a little more sense, since Susan had been the one seeking medical attention--although, Susan needing surgery shouldn't have been a matter for smiles, either.

Meredith continued. "Remember when you sent Susan over to the clinic for Dr. Bailey? I asked her to page me if they came back. They did. The chlorpromazine didn't work, so Bailey ordered an esophagogram and decided to do an endoscopic gastroplication. Susan asked if I could sit with Thatcher during the surgery because he was so nervous and Bailey said yes."

Mark was now doubly glad he'd sent Susan to Bailey since she'd turned out to be a surgical case. "How's Susan?"

"She's great. Bailey already sent her home. She says she's going to watch DVDs and have Thatcher wait on her hand and foot."

"Well, at least he's good for something," thought Mark sourly, and then he was glad he hadn't voiced the comment aloud. Meredith seemed happy about the time she'd spent with Thatcher; he didn't need to point out that once again, the loser had needed Susan to arrange the meeting.

Mark caught Joe's eye and then gestured at both himself and Meredith. There was no need to voice their order.

Oblivious to Mark's gesture, Meredith was still happily recounting the conversation with her father. We talked about stuff. About Molly and Lexie. The stuff they're doing. You know--the baby and all. And Lexie will graduate from Harvard Med in a couple of weeks." Meredith frowned. "Susan says she's having a big family dinner when Lexie gets back from Harvard. Eric--Molly's husband--he's back from Iraq--so anyway, there's a big dinner and Susan says I should be there."

Mark nodded. Whatever his reservations about Meredith's father, he was happy to see her looking so excited. "Family dinner--sounds like fun."

Mark was suddenly distracted by the appearance of their server with Meredith's tequila, and so missed the shadow that fell on her face at his words. She quickly bolted the shot of tequila, and then, smiling tersely, handed it back to the server. "Thanks. Now, can I have a double?" Then she lapsed into silence.

Mark looked closely at Meredith. The bemused smile she'd been wearing only moments earlier had devolved into a stare so empty that he felt slightly whiplashed by the change in her demeanor. "Meredith?"

Meredith looked up, startled. "Huh?" She blinked. "I'm sorry. Did you want one, too?" She twisted around in her seat to call back the server.

"Meredith, no." She turned around to see Mark holding up a full shot glass. "I thought I'd taste mine before I ordered again. Although," he smirked, "if I were drinking tequila, I'd be pouring it past my taste buds, too."

Meredith ignored his attempted distraction. "He called them my sisters," said Meredith.

"Half-sisters," Mark corrected.

"No." Meredith insisted fiercely. "I have _NO_ sisters. None. I'm an only child and my only parent died just a few weeks ago." Her eyebrows contracted so tightly they almost formed a unibrow. "He's _Thatcher_. He's _their_ father, not mine."

Mark felt totally at a loss. He couldn't begin to guess what Meredith wanted him to say. "Grey, you do realize that you don't have to go if you don't want to."

"But I promised Susan." Meredith looked so woebegone at that moment Mark was tempted to call Susan himself and tell her to stop pressuring Meredith into a relationship she didn't want.

He took her hand. "Promises can be broken."

Meredith snatched back her had and scowled. The last thing she needed to be reminded of was that promises could be broken; almost her entire life with her father could be characterized as a giant broken promise. And yet, . . . and yet. . . . "But he's trying. Shouldn't that count for something?"

If anything, Mark felt even worse than he had before. Approximately half an hour ago at this very table, he and Derek had been discussing a family reconciliation. Who was he to say Thatcher didn't deserve a second chance? Nevertheless, every instinct he possessed insisted that Thatcher would only disappoint Meredith in the end. "Only if

you want it to, Mer," he offered with a half-shrug. "What do _you_ want from _him_? And Susan and your half-sisters?"

A silence of several minutes passed, during which Meredith stared at the table and Mark fought the urge to flee. His adrenaline had started racing again and he felt like he had to have some physical activity soon or he'd jump out of his skin.

Finally Meredith looked up. "Are they my family?"

Mark knew he could answer the question stupidly with a joke about DNA, but he also believed that DNA was the least valid reason to consider someone family. He'd disassociated himself from all other carriers of his DNA as soon as he became a legal adult. Aside from the trust fund he'd used for his education and his half of the buy-in for the New York practice he'd shared with Derek, there was nothing in his adult life that connected him to the Sloans except his name. As a child, he'd pretended that he really was a Shepherd rather than a Sloan, and sometime along the way, he'd decided the fantasy was true enough. Derek was his brother, DNA samples be damned.

The answer to Meredith's question was simple. "Do you want them to be your family?"

Meredith's "N-no," teetered on the brink of decisive, but didn't quite land there. Mark stared at her skeptically.

Meredith tried defending her answer. "I--I don't need any more family. I already have a family--Cristina, and Izzie, and Alex, and George--and Callie, I guess. And you."

"Me!" Mark's heart started racing and his eyes widened. When the _hell_ had Grey suddenly started fantasizing about them getting married?

Meredith noticed the look on Mark's face and let out an embarrassed giggle. "I'm not _proposing_, Mark. I called you family, like Alex or George."

Mark took a long sip of his scotch while he tried to sort out his reaction to Meredith's clarification. While he was relieved that he'd been wrong in his assumption that she was pursing him romantically, he was also feeling insulted at being compared to a stuttering crybaby and relentless brownnose.

"Well, maybe more like George than Alex," Meredith rambled on, remembering that she'd slept with George but not with Alex. Then she stopped, dismayed at what she'd said; she had no intention of telling Mark the story of how she broke George. She stole a quick look at Mark, hoping he wasn't about to ask a question, only to find him staring stone-faced at her. Oops. "Maybe more like Alex than George?" she ventured meekly, wondering whether it was the comparison to George that bothered him or whether there was something else going on behind those slightly narrowed steel-blue eyes.

Mark consciously rearranged his features into a more pleasant expression, reminding himself that there had been a compliment of sorts buried in Meredith's declaration. After all, she felt the same way about those idiots as he felt about Derek. Even so--_family_? Him and Meredith?

Meredith was a good friend to Mark; probably the only friend he had in Seattle besides Derek and Addison--not that it looked like Addison was going to be in Seattle much longer, anyway. But "family" for Mark was defined as the people to whom one made a total commitment--a bond that couldn't be broken no matter what any of the parties involved did to each other. If Addison had kept the baby and they'd married, then she and the baby would have been family to him and Derek would still have been his brother even if he refused to speak to Mark ever again. But as things turned out, Addison had become . . . an ex-lover? Ex-friend? The labels hurt--the first, because it put Addison in the same category as all the other women he'd slept with, which was neither fair nor true-- and the second, because it acknowledged that the serial booty calls (which were all their romantic relationship added up to at the end) irrevocably altered for the worse the friendship they'd enjoyed before that fateful night.

Meredith was a good friend, and his relationship with her was a good deal simpler than his relationship with either Shepherd had been for a long time. But part of what made it work was that they both had the freedom to walk away at any time. Mark couldn't conceive of calling Meredith family--but he didn't want to hurt her by saying so.

"Family, huh?" said Mark, consciously forcing down his shoulders and leaning into the back of the chair. "So now I'm a part of your family? What does that mean?" He took another sip of his scotch. "Did you adopt me?" he quipped. "Is my last name Grey, now?"

Despite Mark's attempt to make a joke out of it, Meredith could hear the undertones of discomfort in Mark's voice, and her heart sank. She hadn't intended to make the commitment-phobic Mark uncomfortable--although now, come to think of it, if Mark had made a similar statement to her, she might be looking for the nearest exit herself. She tried to explain what she meant.

"It's not . . . it's . . . It's like this. When any of us are together--Cristina, Izzie, George, or Alex--we're a team. We help each other, we cover for each other, we . . . we know we can count on each other. Like when Thatcher and Susan came over--Izzie cooked, Cristina promised to come over with a fake emergency so I could leave, and Alex came over to eat dinner even though he had plans just so there'd be another person at the table to talk to. George would have come over for dinner, too, but I didn't get a chance to ask him."

Meredith paused momentarily to see if Mark wanted to say anything. He remained silent, so she continued. "We count on each other for the big stuff and the stupid stuff, at work and at home. And if any of us fight, the rest of us fix it so the fighting doesn't get out of hand." She sighed ruefully. "Don't worry; I'm not trying to force you into anything permanent. We know this won't last. Eventually, we'll get other jobs and move on. But for now, we're family--maybe for another six years, maybe forever. But the forever part isn't important. Even real families don't last forever. It doesn't mean we can't be family now."

Mark's nodded thoughtfully, but he still wasn't ready to talk. Meredith sighed wistfully. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," she admitted. "I don't like labels any more than you do. But you already stick up for me the way they do, so I started thinking of you as part of my family."

Mark's eyes widened. "Meredith, I've heard the way you all "stick up" for each other. I've heard more mature conversation in the daycare center."

Meredith blushed. She knew Mark was referring to the latest lunchtime squabble between George and Izzie over his Vegas wedding. "Yeah, well, I never said families couldn't be stupid," she muttered.

"And this is what you think I sound like?" Mark knew he was being unfair, but the idea that Meredith considered him family had rattled him badly.

She stuck her tongue out at him as a way of ending a conversation that was rapidly becoming complicated enough to qualify as dangerous, but then decided to explain further. "You stuck with me outside Joe's the night Derek tried to get me back, even though he's your brother. You gave me the Calverian bone harvest when everyone else was treating me like a walking basket case after I almost drowned. You helped me entertain Susan and Thatcher, and you made a peace gesture by letting Alex in on a cool surgery and made sure I scrubbed in, too. Nobody else ever did that sort of stuff for me except my family."

Mark sat back, rather stunned at Meredith's view of himself and their relationship. He'd always thought of that night outside Joe's as simply being stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time, although he'd eventually become happy with the outcome. The bone harvest? He'd been using Meredith for his own benefit in the race for Chief of Surgery just as much as he'd been giving her a chance to prove herself. And as for the dinner--that had been a gesture that required minimal effort on his part. The surgery? It was in his best interest to put together a competent surgical team on a case that was receiving so much publicity--and getting the Chief's approval of said team was only a prudent measure against running the risk of Bailey's wrath (since she'd warned him there would be dire consequences if he favored Meredith again after he'd given her the bone harvest). Besides--he'd accepted her apology, so he owed it to her to make the next move.

Meredith became unnerved at Mark's continued silence. "I'm sorry. I didn't--. I--I'll go. I should go." When Mark didn't react to her statement, Meredith rose--only to be confronted with the server bringing her double tequila. She eyed it longingly, but then turned toward the door, only to feel Mark's hand putting a firm grip on her wrist.

"Sit down and have your drink," Mark ordered, and then he nodded at the server to put the shotglass on the table.

Meredith sat down slowly on the edge of her chair, her eyes anxiously searching Mark's face for a clue as to what he was feeling. Mark, noticing how Meredith was sitting, decided he'd better keep holding on to her wrist or he wouldn't get a chance to say what he had to say--whatever that turned out to be.

"Drink."

Meredith, wide-eyed, reached for her glass nervously. She wasn't used to having her wrist pinioned to the table and the normally talkative Mark staring at her as if he'd suddenly gone mute.

Mark rubbed at his cheek in a familiar gesture of frustration. "You took me by surprise, Grey."

"Sorry," she replied, hoping to appease whatever inner demons of Mark's she'd awakened before this discussion could turn into another fight.

"Stop apologizing," he said irritably, and then immediately regretted his tone. He released her wrist and then forced his hand to close slowly around his drink as he tried to take control of his emotions. He knew she hadn't meant any harm and wished he wasn't so upset by her remarks. He decided to address the issue sideways. "I'm not used to thinking of anyone as family except Derek. I never signed on for becoming related to a houseful of interns."

Meredith nodded cautiously. She remembered their earlier fight and swore she'd never use the word family around him again. "You don't have to worry about that part. They all think it's a bad idea for me to be going out with another attending and that you'll dump me at some point. They don't think you're family--and I don't have to, either. Let's forget it."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mark knew he should explain himself further, but he eagerly grasped at the lifeline Meredith was offering. "Okay, Grey. No more labels. Friends?" he asked.

"Friends." They clasped hands for a brief ceremonial handshake.

Mark felt as if he didn't leave the bar immediately, he'd explode. Between Derek and Meredith, he felt like he'd been offered a lifetime's worth of closeness in the space of an hour or so and he desperately needed to be alone. He threw a few bills on the table and rose. "I'm headed to the gym. Can I drop you anywhere?"

"No, thanks. I've got my car." She felt relieved Mark was willing to call it a night. She was feeling whiplashed by her own emotions, and thought some time with her good friend, Jose Cuervo, might help her sort things out. Or at least give her a few hours in which she could stop caring that she hadn't sorted anything out.


	14. Chapter 14

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 14

Mark strode into Room 2208 with a big smile on his face. "Susan! We have to stop meeting like this." He leaned over her bed for a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't tell me this is about your hiccups."

Susan shook her head resolutely. "Not the hiccups. The endoscopic what's-its-name worked, thank goodness. But I have a fever, so we came back. Meredith and Dr. Bailey say I need intravenous antibiotics, so here I am." She smiled briefly and then gestured for Mark to come closer until he was standing right next to the bed. Susan spoke rapidly in hushed tones.

"Listen Mark, I have to say this quickly because Thatcher and Meredith will be back any minute now. Thatcher didn't want me to come here--you know, because of the history. . . ." Susan paused for a moment at the politely puzzled look on Mark's face, and then realized Mark didn't know anything about the tangled relationship between Thatcher, Richard, and Ellis, so she decided simply to push on. "He was even more insistent that I go back to my regular doctor after you referred us to the "free clinic." I insisted on staying here because it just made sense to be treated where we might get an opportunity to spend time with Meredith. It's going really well. They're spending lots of time together, and I think they're both happy about it. Thatcher is still nervous, though, so anything you can say to reassure him would be good."

"I'll be happy to," said Mark gently. "It won't be hard--Seattle Grace is one of the best hospitals in the country." He patted her hand. "Where does your doctor have admitting privileges, Mercy West?" he asked with just a touch of scorn in his voice.

"I don't know," said Susan. "I haven't needed to be hospitalized since Lexie was born." Her focus switched to the door. "And here they are with my ice chips," she announced in cheerful voice just slightly louder than it had to be.

After polite nods and greetings all around, Susan said, "You know, honey, Mark was just telling me what a great hospital Seattle Grace is. Go on, Mark, tell me some more."

Mark dutifully started reciting a list of SGH's latest awards and grants he'd culled from the SGH website while he was preparing for his interview with the Board of Directors for Chief of Surgery position. He hadn't gone far before Thatcher stopped him with a smile. "Thank you, Mark, for the sales pitch that I'm sure my wife asked you to give me, but it's not necessary. Meredith already told us we're in good hands. We're staying."

"Good," said Meredith, "Dr. Bailey's the best," and she rubbed Mark's back briefly in thanks.

"What have I told you about sucking up, Grey?" asked Miranda as she bustled in.

"She wasn't sucking up," Susan protested. "Meredith didn't even know you were in the room."

The look on Susan's face gave Miranda the uncomfortable feeling that she was standing in front of her own mother. "Grey, don't you have any other patients to see? This woman needs her rest."

Meredith started to say that she'd already rounded on all of her patients, but then decided she could find a patient who needed her attention or perhaps an interesting surgery to observe--at least, until her boss had moved on. She smiled at her father and her stepmother. "I'll check in on you later," she promised with a wiggle of her fingers.

"Listen," said Miranda, once Meredith was safely out of earshot. "You don't have to worry about the way I talk to Meredith. I warn all my interns against sucking up because they think it's a way to get in on surgeries. It takes them time to learn that the less annoying they are, the more likely they are to scrub in."

"Besides," she continued, "I don't like to praise my interns too often. It makes them complacent, and I prefer to keep them on edge. It keeps them hungry to learn. But I want to tell _you_ that Meredith is becoming a fine surgeon. You should both be proud of her."

Mark remained stoic while Susan beamed, each resolving to pass on Bailey's compliment at the earliest opportunity. Thatcher gave an abortive nod of his head to acknowledge her words, but then said, "That's due to her mother. I, uh, I wasn't around much while Meredith was growing up."

Bailey looked at Thatcher and frowned slightly. "The child has your DNA, doesn't she? And you're here now--so be proud now."

Mark decided he had paperwork that couldn't wait any longer. "I have got to get going, too. Dr. Bailey, Susan, Thatcher." And with a nod of his head to each of them, he was gone.

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

Mark meandered over to the surgical board for a last look before heading home, only to find Susan listed for a bowel repair. His first thought was to page Meredith, assuming that she'd be in the surgical waiting room with Thatcher and might need a break, but he quashed that impulse once he noted disapprovingly that she was listed as the intern on the case. What were they thinking? It's bad enough that Meredith thought it was appropriate to scrub in on her stepmother's surgery. But at least Meredith had the excuse of being family and therefore likely to be irrational by definition. What the _hell_ was wrong with Bailey and the Chief?

A quick conversation with the charge nurse revealed that Susan had been wheeled in as a critical emergency case over an hour ago and that there had been no updates on her status. Mark thought about popping into the OR gallery for an update when he spotted Thatcher pacing in the waiting area. Damn!

Mark's stomach twisted. Aside from the abundant list of obvious reasons he had to despise Thatcher, there was something . . . something else about the man he couldn't put into words but knew that it spelled trouble. Something familiar that he just couldn't put his finger on. . . .

OR or waiting room? Waiting room or OR? Mark knew which he preferred, but couldn't escape the conviction that Susan and Meredith would both want him to be in the waiting room. Mark thought back to Meredith's earlier characterization of him as part of her family and groaned internally. It wasn't fair, he thought. Yes, Meredith was a good friend, and friendship carries its own obligations--but it just wasn't fair that he should be feeling burdened by a relationship that was supposed to be all about fun and games--a relief from all the already complicated relationships in his life. Fuck!

While Mark stood at the charge nurse's station, trying to make up his mind, George walked up to him. "Hi, Dr. Sloan. Are you here to see Meredith's dad, too?"

Discomfited by suddenly being asked to declare his intentions, Mark decided to stall. "Now why would I do that, O'Malley?" he asked sternly.

George smiled uncertainly, not quite sure how to respond to the challenge in Mark's tone. "Susan's surgery. Meredith paged us. I thought . . . I thought she might have. . . ." George looked around hurriedly for a distraction as Mark's expression remained impassive. He hadn't intended to anger the sometimes irascible plastic surgeon, but it looked as if he were well on the way to doing so. "Muffin!" he said brightly, holding up a large banana blueberry muffin. "Izzie. Surgery. M.V.A. She sent me to get the muffin from her locker for . . . him." George pointed vaguely toward the waiting area. "Going now." George waited for some indication from Mark that he'd been dismissed. "Dr. Sloan?" He finally walked away when it became clear that Mark was not going to give him any kind of a response.

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

Mark turned away with a nod of satisfaction. It seemed fitting that George would be the one to take care of Thatcher, thought Mark sardonically. He could almost see the "family resemblance" there.

Relieved of his "family obligation," Mark strolled toward the gallery. The usual handful of interns and residents was watching, taking an opportunity to learn something while taking a break between more urgent assignments. Mark's immediate impulse was to order them out, but he restrained himself. If Meredith didn't mind her stepmother's surgery being a public event--and she apparently didn't, since he saw her standing by Susan's head, oblivious to the stares from up above--he didn't feel authorized to close the gallery.

Within moments, Mark, too, forgot about all the others in the gallery. The flurry on the floor made it obvious that things weren't going well. As the tense minutes stretched out, Mark found himself wishing he believed in some God just so that he could contribute to the efforts of the surgical team, even if it was by something as stupid as prayer.

**GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA**

Although the wait seemed to take forever, less than fifteen minutes after Mark entered the gallery, Bailey called the time of death. The other gallery observers filed out noisily, making guesses as to the cause of death and wondering whether there would be an M & M conference. Stunned by disbelief, Mark remained behind, sitting with his head cradled in his hands.

Although he knew the uselessness of questioning the outcome of the surgery--some patients survive against all odds and others die for no good reason at all--he couldn't help but feel that the outcome was unfair. The woman came in with hiccups. Hiccups! A shot of chlorpromazine should have ended the problem.

Damn. He was going to miss Susan. She had a way of making him feel . . . like a good man, the kind of man he could be proud to be, instead of the dirty manwhore everyone else--including Meredith--saw him as.

After a few minutes, Mark realized he should go down to the scrub room and find Meredith. This had to be much harder on her than it was on him. Losing two mothers in the space of a couple of months was more than anyone should have to bear--especially since this probably meant she'd be losing Thatcher, too.

**GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA**

By the time Mark got downstairs, Meredith, Bailey, and Richard had already exited. He watched Bailey and Richard stop at the doorway while Meredith went to talk to her (now Georgeless) father. Mark stepped around and to the right side of Richard so he could get a better view. Much to his surprise, Meredith, who clearly had been crying and was on the verge of doing so again, was the surgeon approaching her father. Family member or not, Mark fumed, she was the last person who should have been given that responsibility. Again, Mark wondered what the _hell_ Bailey and the Chief were thinking.

From the look on his face and agitated gestures, it became obvious that Thatcher didn't need words to let him know what had happened, even as he struggled to hold on to the hope that he was wrong.

Meredith, trembling at her own sense of loss, and grief, and irrational guilt, struggled to find the words she could use that might soften the blow of her news, knowing she was about to break her father's heart. She finally fell back on the ritual words she used when speaking to family members of any patient. "We...we did everything...we could."

Thatcher, wild-eyed, waved his hands powerlessly, finally grabbing on to his own head in an effort to stabilize what had suddenly become a whirling universe. He couldn't--he _wouldn't_ believe what he was hearing. It just didn't make sense. Not for something as simple as hiccups, and not at what his daughter and every other joker in a white coat had assured him was the best hospital on the West coast. "You . . . you said it was really simple, and that it was this . . . small thing.

"It was," she protested helplessly, her tears starting to flow again. Every single thing they'd done for Susan was done by the book, but she died anyway. How could she make sense of it for him when she was still struggling to make sense of it for herself?

A sudden burst of hatred seized Thatcher. He'd known, he'd _known_ that coming to Seattle Grace was a bad idea. Seattle Grace was where Ellis had left him and her adulterous lover had risen to Chief of Surgery. But because Meredith, the daughter of that bitch whore, had told Susan what a wonderful hospital this was, she stayed. She came, she stayed, and she died. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't _supposed_ to happen. Meredith had given her word that Susan was receiving the best possible care. Almost of its own volition, Thatcher's hand slapped Meredith so hard that her face was turned entirely to the side.

"She had the hiccups," he raged, instinctively grabbing on to that rage to hide from the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. "She came here . . . because . . . because she trusted you. I trusted you."

Meredith stared at her father, too in shock to be able to react to what he had done. Then, overwhelmed by too much and too many emotions, she turned to flee . . . only to run right into Mark, who was moving toward her to protect her from further assault. He tried grabbing at her chin to see if Thatcher had done any serious physical damage, but she pushed right past him and ran down the hall.

For a brief second, Mark thought about following Meredith, but then decided his efforts would be better spent getting Thatcher out of the hospital. He could find Meredith later.

Thatcher was still clutching at his head and ranting about Susan's hiccups when he suddenly found that his right arm was pinned behind his back and he was gently but firmly being frog-marched out of the waiting room and toward the elevator bank.

"I think it's time for you to leave, Dr. Grey," Mark growled into Thatcher's ear. He could hear Richard calling his name, but he ignored it. There was plenty of time after he came back to take care of Richard and Bailey.

Thatcher was too dazed to resist at first, but he seemed to gather his wits while they waited for an elevator. "Let go of me, you son of a bitch," Thatcher protested as he struggled to get out of Mark's grip. "You're one of the people who convinced my wife to get treated here. You're part of the reason she's dead!"

Mark held his grip steadily, resisting the urge to twist or pull Thatcher's arm to point of causing pain. As it was, Thatcher might just as well have been struggling against a moving stone wall for all the leeway Mark was allowing him. "You're more right than you will ever know about calling me a son of a bitch, Dr. Grey, but this is about you, not me," said Mark impassively.

At that moment, the elevator came--and fortunately for Mark's intentions, its lone passenger got out on their floor. That passenger, a resident, looked curiously at the struggle going on between the two men, but was warned off by the glare Mark sent in his direction. By the time Thatcher thought of asking for help, the elevator was already on its way to the lobby.

Thatcher renewed his struggles. His efforts to loosen Mark's grip were futile, and his attempt to kick his way to freedom resulted in his arm being forced further behind his back. Any further attempt to escape at all, even a twitch, would result in real pain. Mark spoke directly into Thatcher's ear again. "Dr. Grey, you lost a wonderful wife today. The only reason I'm not returning the slap you gave to Meredith--with interest--is that neither Susan nor Meredith would want me to, and I'm respecting their wishes. But I'm warning you--if you ever try to hurt Meredith again in _any_ way--I'll start following my own wishes." Mark gave Thatcher's arm a little warning jerk, causing the older man to grunt. "I promise you won't like what happens next."

When the elevator door opened in the lobby, there were four security officers waiting for them. Two of then stepped up to Thatcher. "We're here to escort you to your car, sir," said the taller of the two.

Mark released Thatcher without shoving him--another temptation successfully resisted. "Go home, Dr. Grey. Talk to Susan's daughters. Talk to the funeral home. Talk to whoever you have to. But until you're ready to apologize to Meredith, I don't want you talking to her at all. Have I made myself clear?"

Thatcher glared at Mark. He would have loved to have relieved some of his pent up feelings by taking a swing or two at Mark, but what little remained of his wits warned him against such a foolish move. "You don't understand," he said bitterly. "You shouldn't have taken her from me. Susan was all I had. My daughters are grown and have lives of their own. Susan was all I had." Thatcher began crying. "All I had."

At this point, one of the security officers took Thatcher by the arm and started leading him toward the front doors of the hospital while her partner trailed behind.

The remaining two officers turned toward Mark. "Dr. Sloan, Chief Webber would like to see you in his office immediately. Do we need to escort you?"

Mark snorted in disgust. Going after Bailey and the Chief were the very next items on his to-do list; the fact that the Chief thought that he'd need to be dragged there was just more evidence of what an idiot the man was. "You can come along for the ride if you want to," said Mark casually, "but you might want to stick around for the action."


	15. Chapter 15

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 15

Intent on his target, Mark stalked past Patricia's desk without hearing either her instruction to go right in or her attempt to dismiss the security guards who were trying to follow him into the Chief's office. His hurrying, however, was not fast enough to stop Richard from standing up from behind his desk and speaking first.

"Just what did you think you were doing, _Doctor_ Sloan? This is a hospital, not a boxing ring. We don't rough up family members of patients--especially family members of patients who've just _died_. Do you realize he could have you arrested for assault? And sue both you and this hospital because of your hotheadedness?"

Mark's capacity for self-restraint had already been badly tested by his encounter with Thatcher, leaving him neither the energy nor the desire to temper his words. "Assault? You want to talk about assault, _Chief_? Let's go there, because I don't think you and I were in the same room if you think my escorting Thatcher Grey out of this hospital was the most important thing that just happened." Richard rose from his desk chair and tried to speak, but Mark overrode his words by speaking louder. "Thatcher Grey just committed assault _and battery_ against a member of your staff--a member of your staff who should never have been put in the position of having to deliver the news of her stepmother's death to her father after having been part of the surgical team who worked on that stepmother as she died." Mark punctuated his outburst by slamming both hands on the desk and leaning over so that he and Richard were almost nose-to-nose, glaring eyeball to glaring eyeball.

The next fifteen or so seconds were filled with mutual recriminations as each man yelled without listening to the other. Miranda, who'd been sitting off to one side while they waited for Mark to arrive, was getting ready to intervene in the discussion when the door to Richard's office slammed open, with Patricia following the two security guards. She waved her arm toward the guards. "I tried to keep them out, sir," she said dryly, her tone expressing her opinion of the volume more clearly than anything else she could have said.

"What are you doing in my office?" asked Richard as he glowered at the two officers.

Officer Choudhury spoke. "When we directed Dr. Sloan to your office, he indicated that we 'might want to stick around for the action.' When we heard the yelling, we thought that our presence might be needed."

"Oh, he did, did he?" asked Richard. He and everyone else looked at Mark, who at least had the grace to look embarrassed at having said something so stupid. Down in the lobby, with his adrenaline on overdrive from _not_ having roughed Thatcher up the way he wanted to, telling the security guards there might be more action to come felt . . . good? Now that he was actually in the Chief's office, having said what he said felt idiotic.

Richard took charge of the conversation. "Officers, please check what's written on that door. It says Richard Webber, M.D., Chief of Surgery, does it not?" Once they nodded their agreement, he continued. "That means that this is _my_ office, not Dr. Sloan's, and I am asking you to please excuse yourselves from this conversation."

"Yes, sir."

"Of course, sir."

As Patricia walked the two guards out of the office, she said, "The incident report forms you requested are on my desk. Are you sure you want me to send these nice folks back to their supervisor?"

Richard scowled. He knew exactly what Patricia meant. If he was going to initiate disciplinary proceedings over this, he should be asking the officers to take formal statements from all three of them as soon as possible. He knew the rules; he knew the paperwork. He just hadn't decided yet what he wanted to do.

As Richard sat down, he massaged his temples and reflected that there were some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed, let alone come to work. It felt like he hadn't made a single right decision all day, and now he was going to have to make a bunch more. "Ask them to stick around," he said begrudgingly. She nodded and closed the door behind her.

"What the hell were you thinking, asking security guards to accompany you to my office?" asked Richard sourly. "Did you think I was going to assault you?"

Mark grimaced. "Do you think I'd worry about the possibility of you trying?" he asked just as sourly.

While Richard tried to figure out whether he should take Mark's comment as a compliment to his ability to keep his temper or a reference to Mark's superior physique and conditioning, Miranda decided to seize this opportunity to turn the conversation into calmer channels. "All right, now," she said, startling Mark, who hadn't noticed that she'd been sitting on the couch. "Now that the shouting is over, maybe we can have a productive conversation."

She walked over to the desk and pointed at Mark. "You, sit," she told him. When he scowled at her, she snapped, "Fine. I'll sit first." She seated herself in one of the chairs facing the Chief's desk. Then she added, "You see me? I'm sitting. Do you see the Chief? _He's_ sitting. Let us both sit like the Chief so we can get this discussion over with." She frowned. "I have a husband and a baby I'd like to see again sometime before that baby graduates from kindergarten." Although she didn't say anything more, her face was clearly issuing an order for Mark to sit down.

Mark stared for a moment before he capitulated. "Fine," he said, seating himself next to Miranda and refolding his arms. "Let's discuss how Meredith wound up scrubbing in on her stepmother's surgery and delivering the news of her death to her father."

"Now wait a minute, Dr. Sloan. You do not get to set the terms of this conversation," started Richard, but Miranda held up her hand in the traditional traffic cop stop gesture.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," said Miranda both firmly and apologetically. "Sorry. Sir. But I think this conversation will be easier if I explain what happened. Sir."

Richard stared at Miranda as she stared back at him. He still couldn't quite figure out how she could always manage to seem properly deferential and yet still take charge of their conversations any time she wanted to. Not for the first time, he wondered if she'd ever contacted Adele for lessons on steamrolling him. He let out a short breath and waved his hand in concession.

"All right, Dr. Sloan," said Miranda, turning her chair so that she faced halfway between the two men. Let's get a few things straight. First, Meredith did not scrub in on Susan's surgery. That would have been against hospital policy. Family does not work on family. Meredith was there because Susan asked her to stay and the Chief gave his permission for her to do so. She was there as an _observer_."

"She still shouldn't have been in there," Mark pointed out determinedly. "You threw Derek out of Trauma One when you were working on Meredith after she got thrown in Eliot Bay--and he was only an ex-boyfriend."

Richard flushed from the remembrance of his hypocrisy. In retrospect, it was hard to see how he'd managed to justify throwing Derek out of Trauma One when he had remained himself to work on the woman who was the closest thing he'd ever have to a daughter with Ellis. He gave himself a little mental shake to return his focus to the present. "I agree," he admitted. "I blew it. But when I ordered her out of the OR, Meredith planted herself in the scrub room to watch from there. She said she'd promised Susan she'd stick around and if the scrub room was the closest she could get, she'd stay there." He shrugged. "Since she was going to be so close anyway, I told her she could come in to the OR as long as she didn't participate in any way."

Everything Richard had said was true, but it wasn't the whole truth. The reason he'd let Meredith stay had nothing to do with how closely she'd planted herself to the OR and everything to do with the plea he'd seen in her eyes through the scrub room window. In all the time he'd known her since she'd started at Seattle Grace, she'd never asked him for anything, even after he'd repeatedly tried to reach out to her. Today, he'd just . . . let himself be swayed into making a decision against his better judgment because he couldn't deny her the only thing she'd ever asked of him.

"That's what happened," confirmed Miranda, also concealing a part of her thoughts. The Lord knew that no one in her right mind would envy that poor child with the year she'd been having--finding out her first boyfriend was married and ending up with a second boyfriend who continued to casually bed every willing female he could find; losing her mother to early-onset Alzheimer's and then to death itself; nearly drowning in the performance of her job; and now losing her second mother and being attacked by her father. Truly, she was not jealous of Meredith Grey. But she'd seen the way the Chief melted as soon as Meredith batted her eyes at him, and couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to have the power to convince men--good-looking, important, powerful men like Shepherd, Sloan, and Webber--that they should be falling all over themselves for her. Mind, she wouldn't trade lives with Meredith Grey for any price you'd care to mention. She was quite happy being Miranda Bailey, thank you very much. Still, she couldn't help but wonder.

Mark was partially mollified this explanation. At least Meredith didn't need to feel as if she'd had a part in killing her stepmother. Still. . . .

"O.K.," he said slowly, working hard to ratchet down the level of anger he was still feeling. "But if she wasn't part of the team, why was she the one delivering the news to Thatcher? Doesn't that job belong to the surgeon of record--you?" he asked pointedly as he stared at Richard.

Richard averted his eyes guiltily. As the surgeon of record, he should have been the one to give Thatcher the news. To be fair, he had tried to convince Meredith that he should take on that task, but . . . his heart hadn't been in it. He hadn't wanted to face Thatcher with the news that he'd been responsible for taking another wife from him. Irrational, he knew--but the feeling was real. He knew he simply could have--should have--ordered Meredith to stay behind while he delivered the news, but he hadn't. He'd let his cowardice take over, and Meredith had gotten hurt.

Miranda, too, had argued for the right to deliver the news once she saw that Richard hadn't felt up to the task. She hadn't for a moment accepted Meredith's argument that she owed this service to her father--but the intensity of Meredith's plea had convince her to override her own better judgment in the hope that father and daughter could find comfort in each other's arms at this sad time.

"Meredith wanted to be the one to tell her father the news," Miranda said sadly. "We couldn't talk her out of it."

Mark was surprised by this information, but once he thought about it, it made sense. Meredith really was messed up enough about her family to think giving Thatcher the news was a good idea. Poor Meredith. At least now she had the answer to her question about whether Thatcher was part of her family.

"O.K.," Mark said with a tone of finality a he settled back in his chair and folded his arms. He still wasn't happy with the way events had played out, but he accepted Miranda's explanation that she and Richard had been doing their best to respect Meredith's wishes in a difficult situation rather than simply abandoning their responsibility to her and throwing her to the wolf.

"O.K.," echoed Miranda.

"O.K." Richard looked pointedly at Miranda. "Is it my turn to ask a question now? Or was there something else you wanted to say, first?"

Miranda flashed him a look of wide-eyed innocence, as if all three of them weren't aware that she'd hijacked control of the conversation and steered it exactly where it needed to go. "Of course you can speak, sir. You're the Chief."

The beginning of a smirk could be seen playing on Mark's lips, but it disappeared as soon as Richard opened his mouth. "Sloan, what the hell did you do to Thatcher Grey?" the Chief thundered.

The fact that Richard thought anything Mark could have done was unwarranted after what Thatcher had done angered Mark all over again, and he needed a moment to calm himself before responding. "I escorted him down to the lobby and handed him over to the security guards. If they hadn't met the elevator, I would have escorted him to his car," he said tightly. "Thanks for the eventual assist, _sir_" he added contemptuously.

Richard sat back stoically, ignoring the contempt. He was more interested in whatever Mark was going to add to that statement.

Mark leaned forward in his chair and narrowed his eyes. "Even though he deserved it, I didn't hurt him--not so much as a bruise--although I did promise to return his slap with interest if he ever tries to hurt Meredith again."

Richard let out a long exhale mixed of equal parts of relief and worry. If Thatcher was unhurt, there was a possibility that they might get through this without any legal complications. On the other hand, it sounded like trouble might have been only postponed rather than averted. Richard wondered how much Mark knew about Thatcher's history with Meredith. When you came right down to it, a slap in the middle of an emotional crisis was the least of his transgressions. "Mark, I appreciate that you want to protect Meredith. I wanted to go after Thatcher myself when he slapped her. But you have to let _them_ work it out. There's too much history on both sides for it to be easy for either of them."

Mark's expression hardened. "Until he's ready to apologize, he's not going to be talking to Meredith at all."

Miranda was impressed by the intensity of Mark's desire to protect Meredith. Honestly, she hadn't thought he had the capacity for that kind of loyalty, considering the way he ran through relationships with other women like they were just so much cotton candy--and the way he betrayed his best friend by sleeping with the man's wife. Being impressed by his unsuspected depths, though, wasn't going to stop her from trying to give him a little perspective. "Dr. Sloan, the man just lost his wife," she cautioned him. "An apology may not be the first thing on his mind right now. He has a wake and a funeral to plan, family to contact, legal matters to take care of--and he wasn't expecting to do any of this. You can't keep him and Meredith apart through what needs to happen in the next few days."

A stony glare was Mark's only response.

Richard decided to step in. He knew Thatcher's talent for disappearing, and hoped Mark hadn't already given him the excuse he needed to stay away from Meredith forever. "Look. Meredith is going to react to this in whatever way she wants to. Your responsibility is to support whatever decision she makes. She needs to decide whether she wants to cut off contact with him about this, not you. And she really doesn't need you going behind her back to threaten him."

A small part of Mark's brain could acknowledge the logic in what Bailey and Richard were saying, but it was overwhelmed by the floods of emotion swamping the rest of his brain. Parents shouldn't be allowed to dump their garbage onto their children, either verbally or physically. "He's done enough," Mark maintained stubbornly. "I'm not going to let him hurt her again."

Miranda opened her lips, but decided to remain quiet. She was smart enough to recognize when further discussion was useless. Still, she wished she had the words to make Mark understand he was fighting a battle he couldn't win. Maybe Meredith's father was bad news. Maybe he wasn't. She hoped Mark's expectations were wrong. Apart from Thatcher's own admission that he hadn't been around much while Meredith was growing up, she didn't know much about him. But she had seen Meredith spending time with Thatcher over the past couple of days, and she knew that Meredith still loved her father, no matter how difficult the relationship may have become over the years. The inescapable truth, no matter how hard Mark fought it, was that Thatcher would retain his power to hurt Meredith for as long as Meredith loved him, whether or not they ever spoke again. She hoped Mark could learn to simply be there for her, no matter what Thatcher decided to do.

Meanwhile, Richard decided he needed to refocus the meeting to hospital business; Meredith wasn't the only person affected by what had happened. "This is how we're going to handle this. You two go give your statements to the security guards Patricia has waiting out there so they can file their incident reports. Whichever one of you finishes first should send that guard in here to take my statement. Assuming there are no charges and no lawsuits, that's all this will be--an incident report. If it turns out that Thatcher is injured (Mark raised an eyebrow scornfully at that supposition.) or there are legal complications, your statements may serve as evidence in a disciplinary hearing as well as be subject to subpoena by the courts. Have I made myself understood?"

"So suspend me," was on the tip of Mark's tongue, but he didn't say it. He recognized Richard's warning as an attempt to help him avoid trouble. "Fine," he assented.

"And Mark," added Richard in a softer tone, "if she's still here when you're finished, take her home. Let her know she can have as much time off as she needs."

Miranda nodded her agreement, but reluctantly added, "Just remind her that she has her Intern Exam on Friday morning."


	16. Chapter 16

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 16

After checking whether George had picked up her muffin for delivery to Thatcher, Izzie slammed her locker shut in frustration and disappointment. A surgery that should have kept her in the OR for the next couple of hours had ended suddenly when the patient died. Any patient death was hard, but this patient had been a ten-year-old girl--just a year younger than Hannah, the baby she'd given up for adoption when she was sixteen. Her patient's death from an MVA was a painful reminder of just how fragile life could be, even for children. She wished with all her heart that she would someday speak with Hannah before it was "too late," and then scolded herself for the thought. As a firm believer in karma, Izzie was convinced that believing people would survive played a role in whether they actually survived. So, she firmly told herself that the day would come when she and Hannah would meet, and then turned her attention to other matters.

According to the schedule, Izzie was supposed to be going home in less than an hour, but she'd gotten permission to extend her shift when the car crash victims came into the Pit. Now that the surgery was canceled, she needed to find out whether Bailey wanted her to stick around or go home. Either way, she wanted to check on Susan and Thatcher before she looked for Bailey.

_Slam!_

Izzie looked up to see the blur that was Meredith streak by to her locker. With trembling hands, Meredith threw open her locker and then started ripping off her scrubs.

"Oh, Meredith," Izzie said softly. I'm so sorry. Is Susan. . . ?" Izzie didn't quite know how to finish her question without seeming insensitive, especially since the answer was already apparent.

"Yes, Izzie, she's dead," said Meredith impatiently. "Fake Mommy is dead. Susan. Is. Dead. Is there anything else you want to know?"

When Meredith turned to face Izzie, Izzie gasped. "Meredith, are you okay?! Did a patient do this to you? Does Dr. Bailey know?" Izzie tried reaching for Meredith's face so she could get a look at the handprint emblazoned on her left cheek, but Meredith pulled away angrily. "No, no, and yes. I'm leaving, Izzie, and you can't stop me."

"Huh?" Izzie's mind was racing. Obviously, she couldn't let Meredith leave alone, but she needed more time to think of a solution. "No, no, yes?"

Meredith threw Izzie a look of pure exasperation. "They're _your_ questions, Izzie. No, I'm not okay. No, a patient didn't do this to me. My father did. And yes, Dr. Bailey knows." Meredith blushed with the memory not only of being slapped by her father, but having that slap witnessed by her resident, her Chief of Surgery, her . . . Mark, and various other colleagues and supervisors. She had to get out. She'd be okay if only she could leave the hospital and . . . just . . . whatever. She sat down to unlace her sneakers.

"_Your father_ slapped you?" Izzie was aghast at the news. "I hope the muffin chokes him," she thought vindictively, but then she refocused on her shaken friend. Meredith shouldn't be alone at a time like this. If Izzie let her leave right now, she'd probably go to Joe's and drink herself into unconsciousness. But she recognized the look in Meredith's eyes and realized that simply arguing that Meredith shouldn't be alone would be futile. "But Meredith," Izzie objected, "You can't leave in the middle of your shift. We have to ask Bailey if it's okay for you to go."

Meredith was on the verge of letting loose with a choice string of obscenities designed to get her meddlesome roommate out of her way, but paused. As bad as things were, she didn't need Bailey any madder at her than she already was. She'd seen the look in Bailey's eyes when she came into the OR as an observer, and didn't need to add to her list of transgressions by going AWOL. Izzie was right.

Meredith assessed her ability to stand up, and it wasn't good. The ebbing of her adrenaline rush meant that her hands were no longer trembling. However, her knees seemed to have turned to water and her stomach was threatening to relieve itself of its contents. She was in no shape to go hunting for Bailey. She turned to her erstwhile tormentor. "Iz? Could you go ask Bailey for me? I, uh, . . ." Meredith let her words trail off.

"Sure." Izzie exhaled in relief. This gave her the time she needed. "Is there anything I can get you before I go? A cold pack, maybe?"

Meredith shook her head and waved Izzie off. "No. All I need is to get out of here." She tried to smile as an indication of her gratitude, but the smile was rather crooked. "Thanks."

"I'll be right back," Izzie promised.

Quashing more than a few pangs of jealousy, Izzie paged Cristina as soon as she escaped the locker room; she knew that Cristina was the person Meredith would most likely want to talk to. Unfortunately, Cristina was babysitting a post-op thoracic aortic aneurysm and couldn't leave. She told Izzie that she could send Meredith up to talk, but she couldn't promise that the patient wouldn't keep her busy for the next few hours. She did, however, promise to track Meredith down at the end of her shift, which was supposed to happen at midnight.

Next, Izzie paged George. He couldn't leave, either, since his shift had started only a couple of hours earlier, but he offered to talk to Bailey and to cover Izzie's emergency pages for however much longer she was supposed to be on duty. He also gave her a heads up on Mark's strange mood earlier and they agreed that he should not be called now.

Last, Izzie called Alex, who had just gotten home. As soon as she filled him in on the latest events, Alex offered to meet them at Joe's, since he was sure that was where Meredith would want to meet. Izzie declined the offer, saying that she was going to try to convince Meredith to go home so that she could talk to them about what had happened instead of simply drowning her sorrows in alcohol. Alex then asked Izzie if she'd ever met Meredith before, but agreed to wait at home as long as Izzie promised to call him once they wound up at Joe's.

GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA

The half hour or so it took for George to get through to Dr. Bailey was hell on both Meredith's and Izzie's nerves. It took Meredith approximately ten minutes to regain enough of her equilibrium to feel capable of leaving. However, Izzie saw her leaving the locker room, so they spent the next twenty minutes or so intermittently fighting about whether Meredith needed a cold pack, or some food (either semi-real food from the hospital cafeteria or nutritious snacks from Izzie's bottomless locker), and their eventual destination once they left. Meredith was adamant about her desire to go directly to Joe's because it offered the closest source of tequila, while Izzie argued that Meredith would be better off going home, where she could talk about what had happened in complete privacy and drink as much as she wanted without having to worry about getting home afterward. Just at the point Meredith was about to barrel her way through, permission be damned, George came back with the good news that they were both free to go and that Meredith could have time off until the exam on Friday morning if she wanted to take it.

With Izzie unhappily trailing behind her, Meredith immediately made a beeline for Joe's, but stopped just a couple of steps past the doorway when she saw Thatcher sitting on her customary barstool. She quickly scuttled backward, raising a finger to her lips when she saw Joe recognize her. Once they were outside, she made Izzie swear that she wouldn't let Thatcher in if he showed up at the house. Izzie, confused but delighted at the sudden change of heart, readily gave her word--and then tried to argue with Meredith over whether she should drive herself home or catch a ride with her. Meredith settled the issue by simply walking off to her car.

Izzie took advantage of the moment to call Alex to let him know that they were on the way home. Alex then offered to check on their drinking supplies and shop for whatever was missing since Meredith would probably want to start drinking as soon as she got home. Resignedly, Izzie told him they were fine for tequila and salt, but he'd need to pick up some limes.

**GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA**

It didn't take Mark long to give his statement to Security and find out that Thatcher had walked away without availing himself of the guards' offer to contact someone to pick him up. One of the guards volunteered that she had seen Thatcher walking into the bar across the street. At that piece of news, Mark ran across the street to Joe's to see if Thatcher and Meredith were having another encounter, but all he saw was Thatcher sobbing at the bar with an empty shotglass in front of him. Mark wrestled with the feeling that Susan would want him to try talking Thatcher into going home, but he knew that any further conversation between them right now was likelier to result in violence than it was in anything productive. Besides, Joe was an expert in handling customers who'd come in after getting bad news at the hospital; he'd be able to get Thatcher home even if it meant sending him in a cab. With a muttered apology to Susan, Mark turned back toward SGH.

As soon as Mark got back to the hospital, he paged Meredith, but got no response; trying her cell phone proved equally useless. He started searching the hospital for her, starting with the babies in Maternity since Derek had mentioned she went there after her confrontation with her mother. He then tried the cafeterias, the stretch of basement holding excess gurneys that the interns liked to hide in, the gallery of the OR where Susan died, the OR itself, the intern locker room, the Moreno twins' room, and his own office. Then he decided to drop by Derek's office in the hope that Derek might know other likely hiding places.

Derek listened sympathetically to Mark's account, quietly resolving to reach out to Meredith himself in the next day or two. In the meantime, while Mark waxed eloquent about Thatcher's failings, Derek did some thinking. He surmised that Meredith's friends were probably already taking care of her, and his guess was that they were all at Joe's. In fact, he'd be willing to bet good money that Cristina was taking the lead in creating increasingly sadistic scenarios with Thatcher as the star victim. He offered to take Mark out for a drink, thinking that Meredith would call Mark over if she wanted him, but that Mark could still simply have a drink with him if Meredith wanted to stick with her friends. Mark thanked Derek for the offer, explained why going to Joe's was a bad idea, and asked Derek if there were any other places to look. Reluctantly, Derek suggested that Cristina, George, Alex, and/or Izzie could be likely sources of help.

Mark felt like an idiot for not thinking of the intern brigade himself. With a hasty word of thanks, Mark rushed to the nurse's desk to send a page.

He ran through the list of prospects in his mind. He assumed that Alex and George would be easy sources of information. So far as Mark was concerned, Karev would sell his own mother for a shot at scrubbing in with him and O'Malley looked like he was about to wet himself a little while ago just because Mark hadn't responded to his inane chatter. Still, he realized, they might not be the people she would have gone to first. He assumed that Meredith was probably crying her heart out wherever she was, and would reach out to a girl friend, not a guy friend. Stevens was a possibility, but Yang was the most likely candidate, since she and Meredith were always talking about being each other's person. And Yang was the only person Meredith had allowed to kick him out of her bed even though Stevens had been responsible for many more interruptions. (Stevens was the reason they finally wound up spending most of the nights they spent together at the Archfield; he preferred not to spend his mornings listening to Meredith referee petty fights.)

Mark decided to try paging Cristina to his office to allow for the possibility that they were still in the hospital.

Mark's page was answered by Cristina paging him to the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit.

"Yang, since when do interns answer an attending's page with another page?" growled Mark as he strode purposefully into the CICU.

Cristina looked up from the Journal of Cardiothoracic Surgery she was reading. "When another attending ordered her to stay in the CICU until the end of her shift and the Chief confirmed it. What do you want?" she asked bluntly. Actually, Cristina felt reasonably certain he had paged her about Meredith; when George went looking for Miranda he got a "blow by blow" description by several bystanders that hadn't lost anything in the telling, and he shared whatever he'd heard. Still, she hadn't decided whether she was going to tell McSteamy anything. She liked what she'd heard about his encounter with Thatcher, but she still couldn't decide to trust him. She didn't buy into the whole he's-an-attending-and-therefore-just-like-McDreamy that preoccupied the other interns; after all, she was getting married to an attending. But Mark had come to Seattle as the person who busted up his best friend's marriage--not exactly a sterling character reference. And he was a (former) best friend of the man who'd made Meredith's life miserable, so there was a good chance he'd be likely to do the same. Lastly, she didn't understand the open relationship he had with Meredith; given the ratio of the number of other women he screwed to the number of other men Meredith screwed, it still felt like Mark was getting away with _something_, even if she couldn't put a name to it.

On the other hand, while she couldn't exactly call Meredith a happy person since she'd started seeing Mark--happy Meredith was an oxymoron--she seemed content, which was a decided improvement over what she'd been like with McDreamy. So, she waited to hear him out.

Mark looked around the room, hoping to spot Meredith. When he realized she wasn't there, he focused on Cristina's question. "Have you seen Meredith?"

"Not for a few hours," Cristina stalled.

Mark raised an eyebrow. "You haven't spoken to her?" Mark was disappointed and a little worried. Derek's suggestion that Meredith would have gone to her friends made sense. He didn't know where else to look.

"No. Why?" asked Cristina casually.

Mark was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He didn't want to gossip about Meredith, not even with Cristina--but she was his best potential source of information. "Look," he said awkwardly, "some stuff happened this evening, and Meredith was pretty upset when she left. Does she have any special places she likes to go when she's upset?"

"You mean 'upset' as in I-just-told-my-father-that-my-fake-mommy-died-in-surgery-and-he-hit-me 'upset'?" she asked sarcastically. "No, I don't know any special places she'd go to after something like that." Cristina was irritated by Mark's presumption of the role of the "insider"--the person with the authority to censor information. Since when did he get the right to restrict her access to information about her person?!

Mark stared incredulously at Cristina, and with more than a hint of anger in his voice, said, "You know! But you said you hadn't spoken with her."

"I haven't!" shot back Cristina, her frustration with her assignment clearly evident in her tone. "I'm stuck here doing absolutely nothing, baby-sitting a post-op thoracic aortic aneurysm with absolutely no complications just because his grandfather is on the Board of Directors. Izzie told me what happened."

"Stevens?" So, he'd been wrong, he thought; Stevens was the person Meredith went to for comfort. He was tempted to have a few words with Yang for jerking him around, but that would have to wait. "Do you have her number?"

"Yes, but you don't need it. We're taking care of Meredith."

"You're taking care of Meredith? She isn't even here!" he protested.

"Don't worry. We have it covered," she insisted. At Mark's continued expression of skepticism, she added, "We're good. We know how to do shivah. We've had practice."

Mark was nonplussed. "How can you guys sit shivah when Meredith isn't Jewish?"

"Okay. Fake shivah, with sandwiches instead of real food, and we don't cover up the mirrors and sit on stools in dirty clothes. But we're there for her."

Mark shook his head. That was the strangest description of a shivah he'd ever heard, but he wasn't interested in debating Jewish mourning rituals. "Whatever," he said curtly. "Let's start over. Dr. Yang, I'm looking for Meredith. Would you please tell me where I can find her?"

Cristina parried again. "Why don't you give her a call and ask her yourself?" There, that was a fair question thought Cristina. Let Meredith decide whether she wanted "McSteamy" around.

"Don't you think I tried that?" he growled. "She's not answering her cell phone or her pages."

Christina had to concede he was probably telling the truth, which she did with a shrug. Judging by Izzie's description of her actions as an intervention, Cristina guessed that Meredith had probably wanted to be by herself and had turned both items off.

Mark stared at Cristina, trying to avoid showing how angry he was at being given the run-around. What the hell did she think he wanted to do to Meredith? He would have happily walked out, but the judgmental intern was his best shot at finding Meredith. He tried for a conciliatory tone. "Yang, I'm not trying to harass her. I only want to check up on her. _Where is she?_"

Cristina took a long look at him and relented. While she had engaged in inoffensive small talk with Mark in the past while Meredith was around, this was the first conversation she'd had with him away from Meredith's presence when he wasn't acting like an arrogant S.O.B. who bullied interns because it was fun. (Not that she actually objected to the attitude, because she intended to act the same way as soon as she could get away with it. But the fact that he was willing to drop the attitude for the sake of reaching out to Meredith impressed her. Between this and the attack on Thatcher, she decided that he'd earned the right to be included.) "She's at home. Bambi is covering Barbie's emergency pages for the rest of her shift so she could take Meredith home, where Evil Spawn has the drinking supplies already set up. I'm going over at midnight, and Bambi will relieve me tomorrow afternoon when he gets off."

"Thanks," Mark growled sarcastically. He hadn't really followed Cristina's nicknames for the other interns--but then, he didn't care enough to bother. He'd gotten the information he wanted--Meredith's whereabouts.

At that moment, Miranda stuck her head into the CICU to tell Cristina that she was heading home, and that she should page Dr. Lupi if any problems developed. Then she looked at Mark.

"I thought you'd be gone already," she said with a puzzled frown. "Emergency surgery?"

"Don't worry, Dr, Bailey," said Mark, moving toward the door. "I just needed to have a word with Dr. Yang, here, about Meredith's whereabouts."

"You should have asked me," answered Miranda. "I sent her home with Stevens just as soon as I got done with Security."

Of course. Mark mentally called himself an idiot for overlooking such an obviously common sense move and then narrowed his eyes as he checked to see whether Cristina was smirking, but she--wisely--was staring at her patient's chart with a absolutely blank look on her face. "Dr. Bailey, are there any rectals you could have assigned to Dr. Yang tonight?" asked Mark, knowing the answer but needing to vent a little of his aggravation anyway.

Miranda cast a suspicious glance at Cristina, who continued to pretend she wasn't hearing any of their conversation. "No, Dr. Sloan, Dr. Yang is monitoring Gregor Tikhina in the CICU tonight."

"Too bad," said Mark cryptically, and barreled through the door and down the hallway.


	17. Chapter 17

Families

**Disclaimer**: I make no claim to any part of Grey's Anatomy (except the role of devoted fan) and will make no profit from any part of this story. Every single character mentioned in this story belongs to Shondaland, American Broadcasting Corporation, and any other corporate entity that has a stake in Grey's Anatomy. No copyright infringement whatsoever is intended.

Many thanks to Shonda Rimes for creating Grey's Anatomy, to the talented cast, staff, and crew who help her realize her vision, and to ABC for making it available on the public airwaves.

**Author's Note**: This is the spot where I would prefer to publicly acknowledge the contributions of my beta, but for reasons only partly understandable to myself, she prefers to remain anonymous. She was able to assist me through almost half of the story before RL made it impossible for her to continue, but the original concept and development of the overall story arc owes much to her inspiration and encouragement. She has my thanks for the gifts of her time, energy, and talent she shared with me.

**Author's Warning**: This story is labeled Mer/Mark, and it _is_ Mer/Mark, but they're not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. They're . . . both less and more than that. You'll understand once you start reading. Lots of sex is implied, but nothing specific is shown. (Darn!)

**Families**

Chapter 17

Mark strode purposefully to the parking lot. He was so goddamned sick and tired of everyone assuming he was going to hurt Meredith. He wasn't the hapless bum who'd abandoned her when she was a child or the hysterical thug who had just smacked her in front of a roomful of witnesses. He also wasn't the crybaby who jerked her around for months over a one-night stand he eventually admitted was his own fault or the ex-boyfriend who'd lied to her about being married because he was pretending the marriage hadn't happened and then jerked her around with an on-again, off-again relationship. He was the only man in her life who'd been honest with her all along, and their relationship worked because of it--they didn't jerk each other around because neither one of them demanded what the other didn't want to give. Even so, he was the one Yang threatened to castrate with a rusty spoon; he was the one Addison harangued (after a few snarky comments about Derek's discards) about not hurting Meredith the way he'd hurt her back in New York; and he was the one who got the speeches and the lectures and the dirty looks from almost everyone else in Meredith's personal and professional life. Who the _hell_ did they all think they were, starting with that snotty little intern, to think he was someone they should keep away from Meredith?!

By the time Mark changed into his civvies and got out to the parking lot, he was considerably calmer. Since when had he ever cared about what others thought of him? The hell with them. He and Meredith knew what they were doing. He shook his head at his own foolishness and set out on the short drive to Meredith's house.

Now that he finally had a destination in mind, he was free to shift his focus from finding Meredith to actually thinking about what he could do for her--and he realized that he really didn't know what the point of his visit was. She'd gotten in touch with her friends because she wanted their support, not his. He was no good at this comfort stuff. He remembered the last time Meredith had cried. They'd wound up sitting in her living room with nothing to say to each other until Meredith asked him for pity sex. No wonder she hadn't answered his calls or his pages.

As he continued driving, he tried to take some satisfaction in the fact that he'd run off Thatcher, but something Richard had said kept coming back to him: " Your responsibility is to support whatever decision she makes." A thousand objections to Meredith ever having anything to do with her father rushed immediately to mind, but he couldn't deny the truth behind Richard's observation. The thought that Meredith might continue to subject herself to abusive behavior from Thatcher both sickened and enraged him, and he wanted to deny even the possibility that it could happen, but his own experience had sadly taught him otherwise. He realized he'd have to confess what he'd done and hope--for both their sakes--that she agreed that he had done the right thing.

Mark kept the car headed toward Meredith's, but wondered whether he was doing the right thing. Common courtesy dictated that he should respect the possibility that Meredith had refused to answer his call because she wanted him to stay away, but he couldn't. Well, he could, but he didn't want to--not entirely. Although he dreaded both the possibility of a rerun of the night she broke up with Derek and the potential fallout from his confession, simply turning around and spending the rest of the night wondering how she was doing would be worse. He and his conscience finally settled on a compromise; he'd ask Meredith if she wanted him to stick around, and then accept her decision.

**GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA**

Mark parked carefully, wondering whether he should bother, given that he might be coming back in a few minutes anyway. As he came up the walkway, he heard voices through the living room window and stopped to watch. He saw Alex walk in with a handful of limes and set up three shots of tequila with lime slices while Meredith and Izzie were sitting on the couch with almost identical fake smiles pasted on. As soon as he finished, they all took turns pouring salt on their hands and then bolted down their shots. Then Meredith and Izzie waited for Alex to pour again, their smiles undisturbed by their drinks.

Mark was so proud of Meredith in that moment. She hadn't fallen apart; she hadn't let the bastard get to her. He hoped she'd want him to stay.

"Are you guys expecting anybody?" asked Meredith when she heard the doorbell ring.

Izzie's face immediately grew remorseful. "Oh, I'm sorry, Meredith. I forgot to tell you. Cristina called to say Dr. Sloan was on his way over. She said you weren't answering your cell."

Meredith frowned. She didn't remember ignoring her cell phone, but then realized why she hadn't heard it. She'd thrown everything into her locker in her initial rush to leave the hospital; her cell phone and pager were still attached to her scrubs.

"Should I let him in?" asked Alex, prepared to follow Meredith's lead.

Meredith hesitated; inviting Mark in now was a decision that could go either way. He'd been absolutely perfect that night she broke up with Derek, giving her backup when she needed it, and just . . . being there, giving her both space and comfort. On the other hand, family was a volatile topic with Mark, and she was in no mood for another fight.

"Mer?" asked Izzie as the doorbell rang again.

She hadn't thought about calling him, but now that he was at the door, she realized how much she wanted him to be there. Izzie and Alex and the others would stand by her; that she knew. But Mark . . . Mark could provide both reassurance and distraction in ways that they couldn't. There was a peace to being in his arms that she badly craved--as long as he respected the fact that she was making tonight a fight-free zone. "Let him in," she said, nodding. "Tell him that we're drinking to crappy families. If he wants to join us, fine. If not, tell him I'll see him at work tomorrow."

Alex opened the door only wide enough to deliver the message with an addendum. "Dude, Meredith really doesn't need to be hassled right now. She says you can come in only if you want to join us in drinking tequila and toasting crappy families."

Mark shuddered at the prospect of drinking tequila, but he was willing to go along with it for tonight. If he had to. "No scotch?"

Alex shrugged. Meredith had asked him and Izzie to join her in tequila shots, and he'd be damned before he tried to convince Meredith to make things easier on Mark. "Join us in what we're doing now, or she'll see you at work tomorrow. Her words."

Mark nodded curtly, and Alex stepped aside to let Mark through.

Mark perched himself on the arm of the sofa while Meredith silently cut another slice of lime and poured a shot for him. Alex resumed his original seat, and he and Izzie idly glanced at their surroundings while they waited for Meredith to finish. The atmosphere of the room was . . . edgy, and Mark wondered how much of that was due to his presence. "To crappy families," he said gamely and then grimaced as the raw spirits raced down his throat.

Izzie let out a disapproving "Dr. Sloan!" while Alex gave him a warning glance. If Meredith wanted them all to drink tequila, then they were ALL going to drink tequila without complaint.

Mark hadn't been trying to lodge a protest against the tequila, however silent; the grimace had been involuntary. He hated even the _extra añejo_ (aged) tequilas Meredith had once forced him to try; the _blanco_ piss she was currently drinking wasn't fit for human consumption. He stole a look down at Meredith's face. Her smile had changed ever so slightly; she was enjoying his discomfort. He decided to take the opportunity to lighten the atmosphere.

"I agreed to drink this stuff, Stevens," he growled. "I didn't agree to like it."

Alex and Izzie looked at Meredith and then at Mark, wondering what their next move should be.

"Don't worry, guys," said Meredith in an affectionately scolding tone. She knew what Mark was up to and was grateful for the distraction. "Dr. Sloan can't help it that at heart he's a delicate New Yorker who can't handle a real drink."

"A real drink!" retorted Mark mock-scornfully, throwing a wink at Izzie and Alex to ensure they wouldn't interrupt his shtick. "Grey, you're drinking Mexican moonshine that doubles as paint thinner." He pointedly looked at Alex and Izzie before returning his gaze to Meredith. "When you're ready to drink like grown-ups, let me know, and I'll make some suggestions.

"A sissy. That's what you are--a sissy," Meredith declared, pretending to push Mark off the arm of the sofa. "Go get your scotch, you wimp."

Mark laughed. "Whatever makes you happy, Meredith," he said with a twinkle in his eye before leisurely sauntering off to the kitchen for his favorite Laphroaig. Halfway there, he turned around. "How about letting your friends off the hook? Let 'em pick their own poison for the evening."

Meredith eyed her companions speculatively. It was true that neither of them drank tequila the way she did; Alex generally preferred beer and Izzie tended to be eclectic in her tastes. From the way they didn't meet her eyes, she was pretty sure that Mark was on target about their wishes. "Go, both of you. Shoo! Go get your drinks. This just means there's more of the good stuff left for me," she declared with a lopsided grin as she grabbed the bottle and took a swig.

Alex looked at Izzie, who hadn't budged from Meredith's side. "Beer?"

Izzie shrugged and nodded yes. She anticipated that it would be a long night, and she'd be useless to Meredith before long if she kept drinking tequila instead of nursing a beer.

By the time the men had returned, Izzie had moved to the far end of couch, allowing Mark enough room to sit next to Meredith. Mark started a conversation about their ferry crash victim, Ava/Jane Doe, by asking about the results of her surgery earlier that day for a cerebral bleed. Alex filled them in on Ava's unsuspected talent for languages but was unable to offer any encouraging news on her hunt to recover her memory.

As the conversation swirled around her, Meredith leaned gratefully onto Mark's arm. It was good to be able to avoid talking. She needed time with her thoughts.

The other three talked shop for a quite while, but after they'd reviewed all their current cases, it was hard to come up with another common interest. The weather and its potential impact on their vacation plans at the upcoming end of their internship came up for some discussion, and then Alex and Mark argued for a short bit about a controversial call by a referee at the last Mariners-Yankees game. Somewhere around 9:30, Izzie raised the issue of dinner.

"We can order take-out. The neighborhood has Chinese, pizza, and Mexican." She turned to Meredith. "How about it, Meredith? Pizza or Mexican?"

Meredith took another swig from the tequila bottle and shook her head. "You order without me. Get Chinese if you feel like it. I'm not hungry tonight."

"I can make something, if you're not in the mood for take-out," Izzie offered. "What are you in the mood for?"

"I'm not hungry," snapped Meredith. Her period of introspection while the others made small talk had led to thoughts of the next time she would see Thatcher. Her mood had turned dark and twisty, and she didn't feel like humoring Izzie's relentless attempts to (s)mother her.

Alex jumped in just as Izzie was opening her mouth again. "Hey, Iz. Let's call Mario's and order a mushroom and extra cheese."

Izzie got the message. They could order Meredith's favorite and hope that she recovered her appetite once the pizza arrived. And if she didn't eat it that night, she could have it for tomorrow's breakfast, assuming she wasn't too hung over.

Izzie brought in a menu from the local pizzeria so that Mark could peruse the available choices. Once they'd made their decisions and phoned in the order, Mark stood up and volunteered to wait on the porch for the delivery. Then, wanting to get his confession over with and thinking he should probably tell Meredith in private, he asked her to join him.

"No." Meredith shrugged. "I'm not eating. Why should I wait for the delivery?"

Mark frowned at Meredith's petulant tone. It would be hard enough to talk to her about what he'd done to Thatcher anyway; he didn't need the reactions of the interns complicating things. "Then how about coming out with me for just five minutes. I want to talk to you about something."

"We can leave, Dr. Sloan," interjected Izzie. "Meredith, do you want us to leave?'

Meredith took a long look at Mark's face and drank again. She recognized the look on his face as one that spelled trouble. She was pretty sure she knew what he wanted to say and she didn't want to hear it. "No, Izzie, you don't have to leave and neither does Alex. You and Alex and Cristina and George are my _family_--the only family I have left. Whatever Mark wants to say, he can say to all of us." She looked back at Mark and jerked her head toward the door. "The porch is over there."

Izzie was confused by Meredith's sudden mood shift and didn't quite know whether to stay or go. Alex, too, was confused at the switch from Meredith being comfortably snuggled against Mark's side to her sudden irritation with him, but he didn't question it. "I'll wait outside with you," he offered to Mark, holding the front door open.

"Meredith, please," said Mark, his face burning with embarrassment. "It's--it's about Thatcher." He continued in a quieter voice, "It's about your father."

_Thunk!_

Meredith slammed the tequila bottle on the coffee table and stood up. "No, Mark. You do NOT get to call him my father. He is NOT my father. He's Thatcher Grey--sperm donor."

Meredith walked over to where Mark was standing and waved her finger at him furiously. "I know what you're going to say, Mark, and I don't want to hear it. I know you loved Susan, and I know Susan wanted me to get along with Thatcher, but I can't. I can't and I won't. Not for you, not for Susan, not for anybody. He hit me. _He HIT me!_ Susan's _dead_, and he _hit_ me. He--" Here Meredith faltered, and her fiery indignation revealed an underlying bewildered vulnerability. "He wasn't supposed to _do_ that."

All three of their hearts ached at the look of naked pain on Meredith's face, but she didn't allow it to stay there for long. Her face hardened as she took a deep breath and continued firmly. "Mark, I won't let you bully me into making friends with him just because Susan would have wanted me to. So please--_please_--don't fight with me about this. _Please_."

Mark simply stood dumbfounded for several seconds, so relieved that he and Meredith agreed about her relationship with Thatcher that he was unable to summon the words he needed to reassure her. Finally, he shook his head slightly and said, "Meredith, I just wanted to tell you that I told him never to talk to you again unless he was willing to apologize. And that I promised to pay him back with interest for hurting you if he ever hit you again."

Meredith's relief at these words was so great that all she could do was lean against Mark limply. Her own conflicted feelings had pulled her furiously in both directions, and the last thing she'd needed was anyone pushing her in either direction. Mark put his arms around her and rubbed her back silently.

Izzie beamed at Mark, who was too focused on Meredith to notice. As far as she was concerned, Mark had just proven himself as Meredith's champion. It was the most romantic thing she'd ever seen, and it made him Meredith's boyfriend in her eyes even if they were too silly to see it for themselves.

Alex's reaction to this news was considerably more complex. He appreciated the effort Mark had made on Meredith's behalf. The guy was still a jackass, but had proven himself to be a jackass with a heart, someone who cared about Meredith beyond what she could do for him sexually. That news was welcome, but the actual threat to Thatcher was another matter. Alex knew how complicated the relationship between fathers and violence could be. He'd spent years telling himself he'd done the right thing by beating up his father. That cold, mean-tempered bastard had it coming--and his father's subsequent disappearance after he got out of the hospital had saved his mother from many more beatings. He knew this. He knew this the way he knew his own name. But to this day, despite everything that had happened, he still missed his father, and he still wished he hadn't done it. He still wished he could have found some other way, and he hoped Meredith wasn't in for the same lifetime of regret he lived with.

When Mark started guiding Meredith toward the couch, Alex realized that they needed some privacy. "C'mon, Iz," Alex said pointedly. Let's wait on the porch for the pizza."

Izzie opened her mouth to protest that Mark had already volunteered to take care of that job, but then realized that Alex had made an excellent suggestion. As Izzie passed by, Mark handed her his wallet and told her that dinner was on him.

After the interns left, Mark and Meredith arranged themselves on the couch so that she was nestled under his arm. After a few minutes of silence, Meredith began talking about that first dinner she'd had alone with Susan--what they'd talked about and how much they'd laughed. Mark listened quietly, occasionally nodding or making some small sound to show he was listening, and when she had finished, started sharing some memories of his own.

Shortly thereafter, Izzie and Alex came back in with pizza and sodas, and they all ate while continuing to reminisce. By midnight, the leftovers had been packed up and were waiting to be put in the fridge as soon as Cristina decided whether she wanted some and Izzie and Alex had gone upstairs for the evening. By 12:30, when Cristina arrived, Mark and Meredith were sitting on the porch swing, quietly enjoying the peace of the early summer night sky.

"Hey," said Cristina, taking off her helmet and sitting on the porch rail, "I'm sleeping on the couch tonight, right?"

Meredith looked at Mark. "You staying?"

"You want me to?"

Meredith turned to Cristina. "Yeah, you can sleep on the couch," she said, working hard to keep the reluctance out of her voice. She didn't know what kind of trouble had brought Cristina there, and she really didn't feel up to handling another moment of angst--not even Cristina's. But Cristina was her person, and she would not turn her away. "What's up?"

"Meredithwatch. Didn't Izzie tell you? We're doing the whole shivah thing again. You still want sandwiches?"

Meredith relaxed back against Mark and smiled. She didn't need to be coddled the way Izzie had needed it after Denny died, but she was grateful that her family was willing to be there for her if she did. "No thanks. I'm okay."

"Good."

Cristina waited for Meredith--or Mark, for that matter--to cue her in on what need to be done. Finally, Meredith spoke. "You know, I really am okay, Cristina. I don't need to be watched."

Cristina nodded as if she agreed with Meredith completely, and then asked, "So now you're substituting 'okay' for 'fine'?"

"Cristina," said Meredith warningly.

Cristina shrugged. "Don't tell me, tell Izzie. She's the one who set up the schedule."

Meredith quirked an eyebrow. "Since when do you take orders from Izzie?"

Cristina raised her eyebrow in return and said, "Since you started substituting "okay" for "fine."

Mark spoke up for the first time. "Schedule?"

"Yeah. You want in?" Cristina eyed the both of them speculatively in the dim light from the living room window. She could barely make out their faces in the backlight, but from their body language she concluded that Meredith was feeling comfortable with Mark. "Talk to Izzie."

Meredith decided to let the argument go. She wasn't going to be able to win it, anyway--and she wasn't even sure she wanted to. "There's pizza on the kitchen table."

Cristina took the hint and started to move toward the house, but stopped to talk to Mark again. "By the way, nice work with Thatcher. I hope you dislocated his shoulder when you took him down."

"Not so much as a bruise, Yang," Mark said gruffly. He really didn't want to talk about it.

"Too bad," said Cristina succinctly. "Good-night."

In the silence, Mark made a mental note to talk to Izzie in the morning--assuming he got up before she left. Barring any complications, he didn't have any surgeries scheduled until early afternoon. He hoped the blond intern had a late day tomorrow, too--she had a full night planned. She'd asked about his favorite muffins and promised to have them waiting for him in the morning even after he'd told her that he didn't need the carbs. She'd also promised to clean the upstairs bathroom "just in case" before turning in, and this decision truly mystified him, since he'd seen the bathroom that evening and it look clean enough not to need a middle-of-the-night scrubbing.

After a few minutes, Meredith asked, "You took down my father?"

Mark shifted his weight so that he was sitting a little straighter; he wanted to be prepared for whatever came next. "No. I just helped him leave the building. Quickly."

Meredith took that in and pondered it. "You kicked him out?" she asked tentatively.

Mark cleared his throat before answering. "You could say that," he admitted.

"Good."

This time, Mark relaxed--and wished that Miranda and Richard had been around to hear Meredith say that. Thinking of them and their attitude toward his relationship with Meredith led him to realize that there had been a change in how the interns saw his relationship with Meredith. Stevens and her muffins, Yang and her mysterious schedule--hell, even Karev had clapped him on the back and wished him good night before heading upstairs. He got it. He'd finally been accepted as part of the "family."

Some distant reflex within his psyche protested that he should be upset about this development, but he wasn't, despite his words to Meredith at Joe's some weeks earlier. For the moment, at least, the inclusion didn't feel claustrophobic, and he was too tired to worry about future developments. He'd handle them when they happened.

There was one thing, though, he had to know. He turned his face into the top of Meredith's head. "Mer?"

Meredith had been idly tracing random patterns on his arm as she slowly drifted off into a state of semi-consciousness. "Hmm?"

"Why was Yang talking about sitting shivah when you're not Jewish?"

Meredith muzzily considered the question and knew she didn't have the energy required to give the answer it deserved. "Tomorrow," she murmured.

"Okay," he agreed easily. After all, it wasn't as if either of them was going anywhere.


End file.
